


no one else is singing my song

by thatiranianphantom



Series: je t'aime toujours [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Also spot my own meta criticisms, BUT I AM NOT A PROFESSIONAL TV WRITER, F/M, How do these kids get into Ivy League schools?, I also like skip to writing the shiny stuff RD writers, I put this down as three chapter but jesus only knows how long this will be, I'm an athiest who lived in Africa that ain't easy, Really critiquing RD's writing is a bit of a moot point at this time, They literally never go to school, They're missing massive chunks of education, This contains a lot of Betty essentially being Rebecca in the You Stupid Bitch number, Which is to say I'm an athiest, Which is to say mentally abusing herself for some VERY questionable decisions, You know the ones I mean, trigger warning: talk of abortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23764519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatiranianphantom/pseuds/thatiranianphantom
Summary: Betty loves Jughead. Betty hurt Jughead. But Betty swears she won't drag him down with this. He's going to do great things, and if she has to sit in the back of the metaphorical theatre to watch, and hold her tongue, she will.(It's a post 4x17 again.)
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Cheryl Blossom/Toni Topaz, Minor Betty Cooper/Archie Andrews
Series: je t'aime toujours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775722
Comments: 202
Kudos: 298
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	1. all the solutions were trial and error

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look, it's another post 4x17! 
> 
> I hope you guys aren't sick of this (me) (this plotline) (this same twist). You aren't? Aces, let's do this! 
> 
> So I'm on official quarantine. I was on work from home for awhile, and then I went into redeployment (I'm told Americans only use this term for the military so in this context it means I was switched to another department) for one single day and was exposed to Covid, and guess who is now in a mandatory 14 day quarantine? Work is telling me I should get tested but I'm kinda thinking...what's the point? Either way, I have ten more days of quarantine left....
> 
> Anyway, all this is to say, I have time now. 
> 
> I am not saying that means I will finish this story in a reasonable time, because hey, it's me. But I shall try, and post if if there's enough interest.

_People aren't characters_

_They're complicated_

_And their choices don't always make sense_

* * *

She thinks it’s a good idea at the time. 

Or rather, she doesn’t think. That’s the only reasonable explanation.  
  


She can’t be thinking, because Betty Cooper is in love with Jughead Jones. He is everything, her rock, her safe place, the love of her life, and she kisses Archie Andrews.

Jug’s been with her through everything.

Jason’s murder. 

The Black Hood.  
  


The Farm.

The Gargoyle King.

The Stonies.

Their future together was such a given, that she’s never even considered any other option. 

She doesn’t even know what she’s feeling. 

But she’s scared, and she’s reaching back, and Little Betty was always so comforted by Little Archie, and if she could just be that again, young and safe and cared for, without the future stretching terrifyingly out in front of her...if she could just be young, for one more minute, maybe she’d be okay. 

* * *

So she kisses Archie.

And he sings to her, and they lie together in the bunker, the same bunker she shared with Jug.

And he wants to kiss her again.

That’s when it hits her, but that’s not an accomplishment. She should have known it earlier. She should have _stopped_ it. Some part of her wants to blame it on the veritable trauma conga line of the past few years, but it’s no excuse and she knows it. 

She tells Archie no, and he’s crushed. Archie goes by his feelings, she knows this. He acts now and thinks later, one need only refer to him punching Cheryl out of the ice to see that. He is unbearably genuine, but he leads with his heart, not his head. 

And for a moment, one brief moment, things had felt okay. The kiss transported her back to childhood, to the safety that was Betty and Archie. Inevitable. Destined.

But she is not the same person anymore. Archie wants to be with her, but he follows where his heart leads, and she doesn’t want to tell him that his heart has led him to many, many people, none of which have stuck. And that his heart should be devoted to the girl who is so devoted to him. 

Jughead, her Jug, is the opposite. He leads only with his head, and lets his heart show so rarely. Really, only for her. He loves her with his whole heart, and there has never been a moment where she has doubted it. He almost died for her. She is forever to him, she knows this. And at that moment, it had terrified her. 

She betrayed him. She betrayed Veronica. Christ, Veronica. Her best friend, her friend that drank poison for her. That let Betty stay with her, that gave her a sense of safety and love, when Betty’s own mother had taken that away. Even if her and Jug had organically broken up, Betty metaphorically slapped her best friend in the face, so that’s another thing she’s ruined. As hard as it is to imagine herself without Jug, imagining herself outside of B and V is equally terrifying. 

But perhaps it’s jumping ahead a bit to skip directly to her turning Archie down. During the time she lets herself float a future with Archie, all one week of it after the kiss, that same reality that had terrified her before comes crashing down around her. Even _if_ Archie graduates, he’s staying in Riverdale. He’s so much his father, the heart and soul of the town. The beating heart meant to heal a town that had fractured. And she...she was going to New Haven. There was no staying in Riverdale for her. There weren’t many ways this ended happily for she and Archie, even after the fallout of their kiss. 

* * *

So, yes. She tells him no. 

And then, a week later, she tells Jug. 

He cries. 

She feels the knife twisting in her gut at his tears.

He stammers out bits of sentences, so far from her verbose Jug. The worst one by far is when he looks at her, eyes wide and wet, and pulls his hand from hers.

“But I thought you loved me,” he whispers, and he sounds like a terrified, heartbroken little boy.

She is the worst person in the world for doing this to him. She loves him so much. She’s hurt him so badly.

He runs, and she tries to catch him. But all the tearful apologies and the assurances that _yes_ , she loves him, _of course_ she loves him, they were for naught. 

He runs, and she can’t catch him.

She runs back to her room and vomits, then leans her forehead against the cold toilet bowl. 

* * *

  
  


And she still has to tell V.

It’s made profoundly worse by the fact that at first, Veronica doesn’t believe her. She doesn’t believe Betty would do this to her. And then, when she does, her face crumbles and she yells at Betty to get out.

And so, Betty starts the day with a loving boyfriend and a best friend, and ends the day with neither, but again leaning over the toilet bowl, vomiting up everything but her organs, and it feels like nothing less than what she deserves. 

There’s a song from a show she happened by that seems appropriate for this

_You ruined everything, you stupid bitch._

* * *

There’s six weeks and three days left of school, and Betty is counting down every last one of them. Veronica won’t talk to her, Archie won’t go near her and Jughead won’t even look at her. 

Yale calls. They’re not admitting her, or Jug. Apparently weeks of school missing in senior year (and, if she’s honest, attending for the past two years on a basis that could charitably be called sporadic) is not what Yale looks for in an applicant. And evidently, high school quiz shows do not Ivy League college applications make. 

But then Columbia admissions calls. She’s applied, but she’s not expecting it. 

They offer her a place in their criminal psychology program and she accepts without any hesitation. They’re offering her a scholarship. She would have done it with no benefits. It’s a way out, and she tries to think of anything, _anything_ except solving mysteries on their own murderboard over pizza dinners with Jug. 

It’s a life she’s no longer allowed. Of her own doing. She needs to get used to it.

* * *

He gets into NYU. It’s not Yale, but it’s journalism, and she’s so proud of him. She can’t tell him, but she shines with excitement for him. The world will know his talent now. He’s graduating, he’s going to college, on a full ride. 

Maybe he’ll meet some girl, who’ll be good to him. It would hurt less to have someone stick an actual physical knife in her stomach, but she bears the pain, because it’s pain she’s caused. She broke him. She just hopes someone can put him back together.

(She throws up in the sink, and doesn’t think about it.) 

* * *

He sleeps in the basement now. Her mother and FP say nothing. Jellybean senses the tension, she knows. At times, she looks between Betty and Jughead, eyes wet, and Alice loops a comforting arm around her before escorting her out.

Her fault, like everything else. Her own stupid fault.

Most days, she doesn’t even feel like she owes herself pity, but it feels almost ironic. In trying to cling onto a last vestige of childhood, she ruined her future. 

She falls asleep cold and alone at night. When the nightmares wake her, or when she gets up to pee ten times a night, there is no warm body in her bed to come back to, to soothe her, no steady heartbeat to lull her back to sleep. 

She stuffs her ( _their_ ) pillowcases in a plastic bag and hides them under the bed, terrified of them losing his smell. 

She doesn't think it works, because she’s starting to forget things. The bed starts to lose its indent, his clothes disappear, his rings are gone off her vanity. She starts to forget what he smells like, the way he cuddles up against her at night. Some part of says she’s being uncharacteristically emotional, but a) she can’t seem to control it, and b) the dead-behind-the-eyes-Betty of the Stonies period is not something she cares to repeat any time soon. 

And maybe, during this time, she started to forget other things too. An assignment here or there, as they approach the last weeks of school. Grad photos in the last week, so she has to plead with the photography company to get a spot. The space she’s supposed to sit at graduation, alone. 

And perhaps in the past she forgot other things too. Maybe some important things. 

( _Like loyalty. Or fidelity_ , her mind jeers).

Or maybe, even, her birth control. 

* * *

  
  


Why is it such a surprise to everyone that when you are playing cat and mouse with a pair of sociopaths, birth control isn’t top of your list of priorities? 

Maybe, once or twice, she forgot.

And maybe, looking back, the pill was not the best method of birth control, as something that needed to be taken with extreme regularity in a life that was rapidly spinning out of control. 

* * *

She takes the test on graduation day, in the bunker. Of course, in the bunker. Living the cliche. 

If this were a different world, if she hadn’t ruined absolutely everything, he’d be here. 

He’d be here, holding her hand. 

He’d tell her they would get through this, that whatever the test said, they were in this together.

But they can’t be, not anymore, because she broke his heart. 

And on some level, maybe breaking his heart was a good thing. The thing Betty has always known about their relationship, the one thing that’s always been clear, is how much Jughead would sacrifice for her. He almost died for her. He is entirely devoted to her. She is ever his first thought, so maybe, on some level, she set him free from that. Now he can be whatever he wants. The world is calling to him, and he’s going to do so much. 

This...this will tie him to her forever. He’s been dragged into so much for her, and he’s never complained. He stood by her through everything, loved her unconditionally. And now he’s the first high school graduate in his family. The first to go to any college, let alone such a prestigious one. 

She pictures telling him, and she knows how it would go. He’d stay, because he would never abandon his child. He’d give up his dreams, give up college, work at Pops for the rest of his life. Keep up with the Serpents. 

But her Jug, he can be more than that. He _should_ be more than that. She can’t and won’t do that to him. 

She’s hurt him so badly. She can’t let this bring him down too. 

And she looks at obstetricians in New York City. She doesn’t tell her mother. She tells Cheryl and Toni, also New York bound. 

Cheryl squeals, and sweeps Betty into her arms, gushes how Betty _must_ stay with them, she insists, she’ll be Aunt Cheryl, and _please_ Betty, don’t even speak of rent, this is her _niece or nephew_ , for goodness sake. 

She could have an abortion. She’d be lying if she said she never considered it. But if she could keep Jug close to her, if only for a few more months, if she could release some piece of Jug into the world, she can’t give that up. It’s selfish, but she’s been nothing _but_ selfish till now. Why change now. 

She moves the day after graduation. 

The day after that she gathers her Columbia registration papers, and the same day, calls an adoption agency.

_After everything I've done for you_

_I thought love was the reason why_


	2. it's logistically impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He deserves only the best. 
> 
> She's just trying to make sure he gets it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Here we are. Back here again. 
> 
> Evidently, I can't resist throwing some meta criticisms in there. 
> 
> Also, this chapter became a bit...long and angsty. You know, you write angst for so long and you no longer have a good barometer of just how angsty your writing is. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you all enjoy! I tend to find some emotional catharsis through writing, but I fear I'm just making a very terrible situation in canon worse for you guys!

_ For so many years I've used the darkness to feel  
_

Seven weeks. 

1179 hours. 

Forty nine days. 

That’s how long she’s been pregnant, give or take. She remembers that, seven weeks ago. Right after all the business with the Stonies had been wrapped up, Jug had taken her to dinner in Midvale, at a place far out of their comfort zone, in more ways than one. They had sat next to each other, his hand on her thigh, giggling at the ridiculous faux-French sounding names and earning glares from both the waiters and other patrons. It had been a rare moment where they were allowed to just be young and carefree, stealing food from each other’s plates and getting hands slapped away.

( _ you don’t take a man’s weird rainbow snake thing and live to tell the tale, Betts)  _

And after, they laid on the banks of Sweetwater River, with barely enough light to see each other’s faces, and Betty slid her lips against his, fingers scratching at his back muscles as the beanie she knit him slid off his head. 

* * *

  
  
  


It feels almost too perfect, seven weeks later, and the memory only hurts. 

Not two weeks after that, she kisses Archie. 

She goes from a girl stupidly in love with her boyfriend to just stupid, in one kiss. 

And now she’s two months pregnant, at college, and alone. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Well, not alone. She’s living with Cheryl and Toni, which is...interesting. 

She supposes they have grown too accustomed to living with toddlers (who authorized that, Betty wonders?), so perhaps their tiptoeing around the house, and by extension, her, is just routine. But they treat her incredibly delicately, which is just not something Betty expects from Cheryl. She has created a room for Betty with incredible tenderness, awash in shades of pink, with a lovely sleigh bed and an antique vanity. On top of the bedside table, she has placed pictures of all the people closest to Betty, and Betty finds a picture that makes her heart jump into her throat. 

It’s homecoming. 

She remembers looking back at Cheryl, and seeing her face nearly match her hair. 

“You can get rid of it,” her cousin mumbles in a very un-Cheryl way. “But I just thought...you were so happy for so long...maybe someday it can just be a good memory.” 

Cheryl doesn’t seem to expect the hug, and is still unaccustomed to hugs, but eagerly koalas her arms around Betty. 

She comes to appreciate how much her cousin so genuinely cares, even if it is sometimes misplaced. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


They act like they expect her to shatter at any moment, but Betty has witnessed the near-death of her boyfriend and not broken. She has shot her father and not cried. She supposes maybe, at this point, her tear ducts are too proud to break for something as minute as an unplanned pregnancy. 

Two people know about her pregnancy, and they will be the  _ only _ two people. Betty invests in loose clothing, a far cry from the cropped sweaters and tight miniskirts she’s not sure how she managed to never be dress coded for. 

She collects her books in September, in a flowy tunic, and nobody whispers about  _ the daughter of the Black Hood.  _ Here, she is simply a student, and it feels almost okay. 

The timing of this pregnancy had worked out oddly well. She was due around the end of May, the doctor tells her, and she will be finishing up exams in her first year at that point. By all indications, her new professors see a scared and alone freshman in front of them, and assure her that they will figure something out if she delivers before exams. And then her second year, it will be over, only a memory.

She’ll attend college, and her baby will be a memory, living in some Boston brownstone, maybe, far away from her, their father never knowing of them. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


She looks for him around every corner. Every walk in the park, every restaurant, every shop. He’s in the same city, she knows. Toni and Cheryl tell her little about him, but she knows he’s in New York, he’s made it out of Riverdale, and she is, and always will be, so incredibly proud of him. 

At only a few months along, her main symptoms seem to remain the two most unpleasant ones. Namely, vomiting and puking. And whoever named it  _ morning sickness _ had very clearly never been pregnant, because it was more of a general, all day state of being. School is beginning soon, and she would very much like it if she was vomiting her way through all of her classes. 

But, as was the general theme, she did not get to pick her fate. She tried that once, and it ruined everything. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


What really gets her is that the kiss was the first thing she ever kept from Jug. He’s been more than her boyfriend, he’s been her best friend, her investigative partner, her biggest supporter. There’s never been anything that she can’t tell Jug. There’s never anything he hasn’t supported her in. For the hell the last three years were, Jug was always there, so she was never alone, even when alone was the biggest thing she felt. 

And then she kissed Archie, and he disappeared. 

It’s almost ironic that she was abandoned so many times, but Jug has always made her feel loved, supported, seen. 

Now, she feels invisible. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It’s a  _ bigger _ feeling than she’s ever experienced before, being pregnant. There’s something vaguely unbelievable about growing a human that is half her, half Jug. It’s a feeling that is, as of now, entirely terrifying. 

Betty supposes she should have developed better coping mechanisms through the very traumatic last three years, because all her comfort seems to be wrapped up in Jughead. She dreams, once, of the time after the quarantine, when Jug was first allowed back into Riverdale, and how he wrapped her up in his arms immediately and slept in her bed for the next three weeks. Something about waking up to his dark hair splayed over her pink pillows, his mouth hanging open slightly became so innately comforting to Betty, and the first day he slept at the trailer again, she estimates she may have slept for perhaps a cumulative three hours. 

Now she’s alone forever. 

At least sixty times, her finger hovers over Veronica’s contact on her phone, the contact photo popping out as if it’s mocking her. Veronica’s arms wrap around her waist from behind, her chin on Betty’s shoulder, both of them smiling brightly at the camera. 

_ Alone alone alone alone you did this.  _

Pregnant, emotional people are not known for their coordination, Betty thinks that should be made clear. So before she knows it, the phone tumbles from her hand and her heart damn near stops as she hears her best friend on the other end of the line. 

“Hello? Who is this?”

_ Of course _ . Of course she had deleted Betty’s number. Probably all their photos too.

_ Your fault your fault your fault your fault.  _

She doesn’t feel at all in control of her body, but the word slips out unbidden.

“Vee?” 

There’s a pause, and for a fraction of a second, Betty dares to hope. 

She imagines, if the world would be so kind to her, for just a second, she could be lying on her best friend’s couch, head in Veronica’s lap, drinking mimosas, laughing, crying. And things would be okay, because she wouldn’t be alone. Things wouldn’t be different anymore. 

The dial tone is what shakes her back to reality, and what forces the tears out at long last. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It’s two hours of endless tears later and Betty just wants her parents. She wants to be a child again, warm and safe, no monsters, no serial killers, nothing but her warm bed, the smell of her mother’s perfume and her father’s strong arms around her. 

But here’s the thing. Every single happy memory that Betty has with her dad is tainted. From the day he let her into his garage to finally,  _ finally _ let her fix the motor of their old station wagon with him. To the warmth of his hand over hers as they shifted the motor inside the car, to the softness of his smile and the gentleness of his voice telling her “you’re a natural, pumpkin.” 

The long lunches and whispers of  _ don’t tell your mom, kiddo _ s. The fair days at Pickens Park. The long rides home, pretending to sleep to be carried up to bed, warm and safe. 

Those same hands had killed people. That same face had taken in the last words of innocents. Every single memory of her childhood is spoiled, forever. Betty’s father has attacked her. He’s tried to take her own life. And now he’s dead. 

She has no father, and that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

The door creaks open, and Betty’s used to surprises, but in no universe does she expect FP Jones to slide into her room and sit down gently on the edge of her bed. 

“Hey, kiddo.” 

His voice hurts, but some of the Cooper perfection instincts must exist in her, because she wipes her eyes hastily and sits up. 

“Mr. Jones. I didn’t...know you were here.” 

She moves to rearrange her shirt over her abdomen, but he gently lays a hand over hers.

“Easy, Betty. It’s okay. I know.” 

_ He knew _ ? 

He rubs his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Toni told me. She called me.”  _ Toni _ . She was always more perceptive than she seemed. 

Betty’s sure he can hear her heart as it jackhammers against her ribcage. 

“Mr. Jones, it’s not…”

“It’s  _ okay _ , Betty. I didn’t tell anyone.” 

“Nobody?” The words come out in a whisper. 

“Not a soul. And I won’t.”

_ I won’t.  _ She can’t deserve this. In no world does she deserve this. She searches his face for any sign that he’s trying to trick her, but finds only soft brown eyes filled with sympathy. 

“But you’re…”

He said he won’t tell him. But he’s offering support to Betty. He’s offering to carry her own secret, hold it away from her mother, his son, everyone. Betty doesn’t dare to believe a person would do that. 

FP keeps his hand on hers, looks her honestly in the eyes. “This is a scary time, kiddo. I know. And people...make mistakes. God knows, I did. But no matter the circumstances, you shouldn’t be alone during this.” 

Pregnancy hormones are a hell of a thing, because Betty used to be able to hold back tears. Not now. Now her ex-boyfriend’s father opens up his arms, and Betty dives into them without hesitation. 

His arms close around her, and Betty feels warm. She feels safe, for just a moment. 

FP’s fingers stroke her hair, he whispers how he won’t tell anyone, that he’ll be here, that she’ll be okay, and Betty breaks. Her tear ducts appear to have broken down, because she scarcely understands how this much liquid exists in her.

It’s a stark moment for Betty, a moment where she allows her mind to go blank and just focus on the feeling of arms wrapped around her, fingers stroking her hair and a voice soothing her, knowing what she’d done. 

He leaves two hours later, promising again that he won’t tell anyone, and that “ _ I’m here, honey. Whatever you need, I’m here _ .”    
  


She gives a tiny smile that she hopes conveys gratitude to Toni and she is slightly, marginally, less alone. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Sometimes she allows herself to imagine what it would be like to have him here.

_ “No, Betty. I refuse little, but I abjectly refuse to let our child listen to Taylor Swift.” _

_ “They won’t remember!”  _

_ “But I’ll know. I’ll always know our child’s tiny, developing ears were depraved by the tinny machinations of a vocal-range-less disney-created-princess.”  _

He’d rub her feet, he’d hold her hair back, he’d get her anything she asked. 

And the thing is, he would be here. She knew it before, she knows it now. She has only to tell him, and he’d be here instantly. Some very broken part of her just wants to believe he still loves her, but Jug is the best person she knows. Even now, if she needed him, he’d be here. 

And this is his baby. She’s keeping it from him, and she’s making his father lie to him and everyone else. 

She comes to accept that she will always feel like she’s betraying everyone around her, but betraying Jug again is a feeling that eats at her. He deserves nothing but the very best. 

That’s not her, but it’s something he wants and deserves. 

She’s just trying to make sure he gets it. 

.

* * *

  
  
  


She finds the agency through its Yelp reviews, which strikes her as insane, but she forces herself not to think about it. 

The adoption agent is kind. Older, with cropped white hair and a severely tailored suit that belies her kind eyes. 

She introduces herself as Anne, and gives Betty a tissue box and a handful of mini candies, smiling gently as Betty finishes them in a way that would scandalize Alice Cooper. 

She gives Betty paperwork, assures her she’s doing the right thing. She asks basic questions, how far along is she, how did she hear about them (Betty leaves out the Yelp aspect), and how is she feeling. 

“I have to ask you what made you choose adoption, Betty. Do you feel comfortable talking about that?”

Looking downward, Betty suddenly finds use for the tissues she had before tried to hand back. 

“I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. And...I can’t bring a child into my life.”

“Would you be okay telling me why?” 

She goes over it, in the most bare details. She’s alone, she’s in college, she’s hid the pregnancy from all but three people. She comes from a town filled with murder, cults, abandonment, and serial killers. 

Life in Riverdale didn’t really translate outside of Riverdale. It seemed a very specific bubble that only residents of the cursed town itself could understand. 

It’s funny that even with the most scant details of the last few years of her life, Anne still recommends her for therapy.

“It is not a condemnation, Betty. It doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re doing the right thing. I just think someone to talk to at a time like this would be only to your benefit.” 

Betty wishes she could believe it.

Anne asks about the father. Betty tells her only that he doesn’t know and she’s not sure she can ever tell him.

She scribbles her name on a line saying she intends to relinquish her ( _ her and Jug’s _ ) child immediately after birth and barely feels it. 

But after she steps out of the appointment, bag full of legal documents, she passes her fingers briefly over her abdomen and a rush of something she doesn’t understand passes through her. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The two things happen on the same day, and she’s fairly certain that’s what does it. 

A package arrives, a big one, from her mother. She eyes it how one might eye a bomb, but carefully pries it open. 

She’s certain she read about excessive crying being a pregnancy symptom, because the tears start instantaneously. 

It was going to be his graduation present. She’d spent more than she cared to admit on it, but he was worth it. She was proud of him, she believed in him, and she wanted to show him.

None of that had changed when everything had changed. 

She raises it carefully from its box and passes her fingers over the leather spine of the book, then slides her fingers to the engraving.

J Jones.

For his novel. The one he would write that would become a bestseller, she knew it. She had always imagined herself editing his work as he finished, holding his hand when the approval letter from the publisher came, but things were different now.

She moves to the back, and feels her breath catch at the inscription at the back. 

_ I love you. B.  _

And then. 

Her belly flutters, like butterfly wings. 

She thinks briefly that it’s emotion, nerves, but it’s not. 

The baby  _ moves _ , she feels it. 

It moved for a book. 

It’s so profoundly  _ Jughead _ , it springs tears to her eyes.

His child is so much like him already, and he may never know. 

It’s in that moment that she decides. 

The book is slid into her bag, and the door locks behind her.

* * *

  
  


It’s different, to intentionally look for him. In a city of 8 million people, she searches out one. 

It occurs to her as she walks, that the person who she’d count as the one she knows best in the world, is a stranger to her now. 

She doesn’t know where he is, what he does, how he spends his time. 

Who he spends his time with.

The thought falls like a rock in her stomach. 

_ Maybe he’s spending his time with someone _ . 

Betty heaves a deep breath and swallows down the knot the size of Texas in her throat. It didn’t matter now. She’d see him.

That was all that mattered. 

She feels a flutter again, and this time she smiles. 

* * *

  
  
  


Looking back, she finds him easily.

He’s always been a creature of habit.

And maybe she still speaks the language of Jughead Jones.

It’s easy enough to convince the NYU library guard that she’s a student, and she knows where to go.

The classics section of the library hosts a few tiny study rooms. She pads along the closed doors, softly as she can, peering in the tiny plates of glass at the students bent over their textbooks. 

Her heart pounds, and she flexes her fingers, trying to keep her nails away from her palms.

It’s the second to last cubicle. 

There’s two people in it, and one has dark hair falling into their face. 

He’s not wearing the beanie. That sight slides between her ribs like a knife. 

And then she takes note of the girl beside him. 

She’s pretty. Her eyes look bright, unhaunted. 

He puts his hand on her arm, and he smiles. 

* * *

  
  
  


The urge to vomit rips into her throat, but this time, it has nothing to do with the pregnancy. 

She does what she came here to do. She’s glad she brought a pen, later.

She slides the book down and runs, and the mad fluttering in her belly is the only thing making her feel in any way alive. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


(He’ll see the book when he takes a break forty minutes later, and when he flips open the front cover, the page tumbles out, and the hastily scrawled words make his heart stop.

_ You will do amazing things, Jughead Jones. _

_ I want you to know, I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.  _

_ I’m sorry. _

_ B.)  _

  
  
  
  
_Have you ever been far from home?  
So scared you had to roam  
And now you're beaten and tired  
With no one to call a friend_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just needed supportive FP. There was no real reason for it beyond "you know what would be cool? If Betty had a non-serial killer father figure in her life." 
> 
> Also, give Betty a break here, guys. The trauma conga line that has been her life has not made this decision easy and good god, does this poor girl need a good therapist. Like, daily therapy sessions. She's trying to do the right thing, she really is.


	3. what'll it be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "don't tell Jug" rule was a hard and fast rule in the house, so he couldn't have found out.
> 
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's bedroom wall sits right next to an old, loud, banging radiator? 
> 
> Guess who's up at 2am?
> 
> Actually though, I really wanted to get this chapter out, because god, Cheryl is so much fun to write. I love her. 
> 
> Week 425343 of quarantine, my lot. Let's make it a good one. Stay safe. We appear to have peaked here in Canada, so good things are on the horizon. 
> 
> Also, I got to actually use a Crazy Ex Girlfriend quote in here. Bonus points if you can spot it. 
> 
> Dedicated to (you know who you are) now you have two characters in this story named after you. Be flattered.

_fake it till you make it_   
  


_that's how i got by_

It’s the furrowed brow that gives it away first. 

(She feels like you should have an incredible poker face to be an ultrasound technician.)

It’s only slightly furrowed, to be fair. But, now nearly four months pregnant, she is still very quick to emotion, and she notices. 

The tech assures her that everything looks good, there’s just “something I’m having trouble seeing.” 

He fetches a doctor, and they confer. The knot forming in Betty’s stomach grows larger by the moment, and she can feel her heart pounding wildly against her ribcage as the doctor presses the wand gently into her slightly rounded belly.

His poker face is better, and she’s slightly belied by the fact that he assures her that she likely has nothing to worry about. 

“Baby doesn’t want to give us a good luck at that chest, honey,” the doctor smiles. “We’ll take a peek in a month, nothing to worry about.” 

* * *

  
  
  


She establishes early with her roommates that there is a limit of three people to know about her pregnancy, doctors and therapists noninclusive. 

The “don’t tell Jughead” speech was not one oft repeated around their household. 

She had explained her decision to Cheryl and Toni, as briefly as she could, and she knows Toni isn’t comfortable with it. She understands why, but she couldn’t very well tell Toni that it’s her life and her body and her lack of a relationship, while Toni is effectively keeping her from being pregnant and homeless.

Cheryl seems personally disappointed that the baby won’t kick for her. She can’t feel it yet, of course, but sometimes the baby kicks on cue when it hears her voice. 

It makes her feel warm all over. She cherishes it, and at the same time, dreads it, because she has twenty more weeks to feel her baby kick and that’s it. 

And every day that goes by is just one day closer to saying goodbye. 

* * *

  
  


Cheryl doesn’t want this, and makes no secret of it. 

“Just  _ think _ about it, cousin,” she says. “Three hot girls and a baby. It’s what great movies are made of.”

“Nobody’s going to make that movie, Cheryl,” Toni calls from the couch.

Betty gives Cheryl’s hand a quick squeeze, in what she hopes is a wordless signal to drop it.

It doesn’t work, of course, because it’s Cheryl. 

She finds herself guided to the couch beside the redhead, as her cousin heaves a sigh. “I’m sorry, Betty.” 

Betty lays her head on Cheryl’s shoulder and her cousin rubs her arm soothingly. 

“We’d help, you know,” she says softly. “We could all help you do this.” 

Betty gives a half smile. “I know, Cheryl. But we’re all in college. I’m only eighteen. This wasn’t exactly in the plan.”

“I know,” Cheryl returns. “But you’re not alone. We could schedule our classes around a daycare schedule. We would all take turns getting up at night. It’s entirely doable, and clearly,” she gestures around the expansive apartment. “Clearly, money is not a concern.”

“I could never ask you to support us, Cheryl. And I can’t ask you to rearrange your life any more than you already have.”

Cheryl lifts her head and looks at Betty, genuinely surprised. “I love you, cousin Betty. We’re family. Isn’t that what family does?”

Sometimes Cheryl makes so little sense to Betty. How could someone who grew up so abused have such a genuinely kind nature? It defies both her upbringing and her early high school years, when  _ season five Betty Draper  _ had ruined more than a few meals for her. 

“Love you too, Cher. Thank you. Thank you for all of this. 

* * *

  
  


FP checks up on her. 

He’s visited her a few times, and he keeps a text chain going with her. She’s still sometimes completely overwhelmed. He always seems to know exactly when, and her phone lights up with his call.

She asks him why, just once.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” It all sort of rushes out at once, and she is almost proud of herself for airing such deep insecurities so publicly.

“I broke your son’s heart. I’m making you keep this secret from everyone. I’m doing the same thing to you that my mom did.”

He pauses. “Your mom and I were in a different situation, Betty, but I get it. You both wanted the best for your kids, even if you’re not the best one for them. If anyone understands that, it’s me.” 

  
He sighs audibly. “I wish you would tell him, kid, but I get it. You’re trying to look out for him and the baby. It’s a lot on someone at 18. I’d rather wish things were different but be there for you, and know there’s someone looking out for you, than be resentful. Resent has already taken up too many years.” 

(It triggers another wave of tears, but these ones feel different. More cathartic.)

  
  


* * *

She talks to the baby now. Now that she can feel the movements, she lies in bed at night and reads to the baby. She tells it about her childhood. She spends a whole night telling the baby about Caramel, another talking about Jellybean.

She doesn’t tell the baby about Jughead. Not yet.

It becomes almost like therapy, until actual therapy starts. 

* * *

  
  


The therapist is named Rose. It’s a soft name, and she seems a very soft person. 

Betty doesn’t know if she counts one session with Mrs. Burble as therapy, but she does tell Rose that she’s been in therapy before. 

She’s told she can talk about anything she wants, and she  _ wants _ to talk about anything except Jug and the baby. So she doesn’t. 

She starts off by talking about her classes, how being in university and finally out of Riverdale feels. 

Rose asks her if it’s how she imagined it, and it both is and isn’t.

“Do you feel like you still have a piece of your past holding you back, Betty?” Rose asks, and it’s awfully perceptive.

She wanted a clean break, but this is not a clean break. 

“I won’t, next year. Next year, when...all this is over. Things will be different.” 

Rose nods, but it feels almost like disapproval to Betty. 

“It will. The...the baby will be gone. And I’ll be okay.”

Rose nods again. It’s almost angering. “Don’t you think?” 

“It’s not about what I think, Betty.”

“But you do think! You think I’m doing the wrong thing. You think I’m deluding myself. You think I’m lying to Jug and everyone else, and that I love this baby, and I have to give it up, and that will  _ always _ follow me.”

Rose just looks at her, and Betty sits back and feels the impact. 

A box of tissues appears on her lap, as Rose’s form blurs in front of her.

“Therapists always know when tears start. It’s practically a carnival trick at this point,” she smiles. 

“You think I’m crazy.”

“Not at all. And actually,  _ crazy  _ is a pejorative term, it’s an overgeneralization of a number of disorders.” 

“I’ve hurt people.”

Rose nods. “Would you like to tell me about that?”

Sniffling, Betty feels like she might. 

* * *

  
  
  


She guesses she’s not supposed to see it, but Cheryl has never been subtle. And the most subtle way to enter a room is not crashing through the door, throwing bags every which way, arms akimbo. The commotion leads Betty out of her room but not quite into the living room, where her cousin and her girlfriend stand.

“TT, I need a bath. Several baths. The finest soaps, approximately eighteen showers, and a healthy dose of brain bleach, while you’re at it.” 

Toni seems almost amused, well used to Cheryl and her eccentricities at this point. 

She looks up from her laptop, her voice carrying a small smile. 

“Not a great day, babe?”

Cheryl flops down beside her. “The worst. I swear on my life, Cheryl Marjorie Blossom has never been  _ so _ repulsed.”

  
Betty sees Cheryl kiss Toni soundly, and Toni’s squeak at the sudden movement. 

The redhead sighs. “A slight dose of medicine,  _ ma cherie,  _ but not enough to cleanse my brain.” 

Toni grins, and Betty imagines she’s almost enjoying this. “Right, so, you want to tell me what happened, Cher?” 

Cheryl heaves a great, dramatic sigh. Betty secretly loves this about her cousin. Cheryl Blossom was never one to fade into the background. Cheryl waited for the proper pomp and circumstance she was so rightfully owed. 

“Is Betty in her room?”

“Think so, yeah. Why?”   
  
Their voices lower, and her interest is piqued. 

“I saw you know who today.” 

Betty’s heart drops to her stomach, and the baby flutters wildly. She didn’t tell him, the last rational part of her brain tries to interject. She couldn’t have. Betty was very clear on the “don’t tell Jug” rule. It was, perhaps, the only hard and fast rule in the house. 

Toni’s laptop snaps shut, and her posture uprights instantly. 

“You saw Jughead?” 

(Hearing his name sends a flash of anguish through Betty, months later. She wonders if the guilt will ever abate.) 

“Live and in the threadbare flesh.”

“Oh my  _ god, _ Cheryl. Where did you see him?” 

Cheryl audibly hesitates, and Toni’s brow furrows. “Cheryl. Where did you see Jughead?” 

“It was a spur of the moment decision, TT! It was just so cute, I couldn’t resist!” 

Toni looks ever more confused. “You think...Jughead is cute?”

Cheryl’s face changes to one of horror. “Emo Linus? What do you take me for, Antoinette? I don’t speak of the hobo himself. I speak of that adorable new baby clothes store on Fifth. I happened by, and saw the most  _ precious _ gender-neutral outfit in the window, and decided my niece or nephew simply couldn’t go without it.” 

“Cheryl,” Toni’s voice is hesitant. “You know Betty is…” 

“Can they not wear an outfit in the hospital, TT? Or have something fabulous to go home in?”

Toni sighs. “Fair enough, Cheryl, but I still don’t see how that warranted this reaction. Or how this involves Jughead.”

“Oh, TT, it was positively the  _ last  _ place I expected to see the hobo. Fifth Avenue? Not for the likes of Insufferable Smurf himself. But as I exited, my purchase in hand, there he was, standing in front of me.” 

* * *

She had seen him.    
  


Cheryl had seen Jughead. 

She’s in front of the couple before she really realizes where she’s going. 

“You saw Jughead?”

Cheryl and Toni both look up at her, eyes wide. 

“Cousin. I don’t suppose you missed any of that.” 

Betty passes a shaking hand through her hair, trembling. 

“You saw him. You saw Jug.”

Cheryl pops up and guides Betty to seat on the couch next to her. 

“Breathe, cousin. Let’s not have you overstressed. My niece or nephew needs you calm.” 

Betty tries to breathe, tries to calm down in any other way than digging her nails into her palm. When the words finally do come out, they come out thin, hesitant. 

“How...how is he?”

Cheryl’s eyes fill with sympathy as she reaches out to stroke Betty’s hair gently. 

“He seems fine, cousin. Perhaps a bit of a pale pallor, but what else can we expect from hobo.” 

Toni elbows Cheryl, earning a glare. 

Cheryl brings her hand down and lays it on Betty’s clasped fingers.

“Worry not, cousin. I didn’t tell him.”

Betty’s head jerks from side to side. “But he saw you at a baby store, Cheryl. He must have guessed.”

Cheryl’s head shakes. “To my point, Betty. Don’t be concerned. I...deflected his questions. Thus my current state.”

Toni shifts herself closer, wraps her arms around Cheryl’s waist.

(Betty’s noticed they try not to be too affectionate around her.) 

“What happened, love?”

Cheryl leans into Toni and heaves a sigh. 

“It wasn’t pretty, TT. Not at all.”

  
  


* * *

_ “Cheryl?” _

_ “Hob….Jughead. Fancy meeting you here in the Big Apple, as they say. On your way to a convention of 90s Hot Topic employees?”  _

_ “Nice to see you too, Cheryl. Why...why were you buying baby things?” _

_ Cheryl hopes she conceals the note of panic in her voice. She always was a good actress, she reasons.  _

_ “What makes you think I was?” _

_ Expression incredulous, Jughead reaches down and plucks at the sticker on a bag that reads “Gifts For Your New Baby!” _

_ Her brain whirs, searching for a feasible explanation.  _

_ “Why, my darling niece and nephew of course! Surely you haven’t forgotten little Juniper and Dagwood.” _

_ “They’re three, Cheryl, not newborns.” _

_ “And how do you know this store doesn’t carry toddler clothing, hobo? You’re not exactly an infant connoisseur.” _

_ Again, Jughead stabs a finger at the second sticker, reading “Newborn”. _

_ “Goddamn stickers.” Cheryl mutters under her breath. “Thank you, True Detective,” she bites sarcastically.  _

_ Eyes still on the bag, Jughead’s voice shakes audibly, and Cheryl fears he’s too close to the truth.  _

_ “Cheryl? Why are you…” _

_ He looks obviously confused, and a bit anxious. Cheryl imagines, for a moment, the look on Betty’s face if he finds out the truth. The hurt her cousin will feel at Cheryl’s betrayal, if she is responsible for this. No. No, Cheryl Marjorie Blossom protects her family, at all costs. She will stop this.  _

_ “Okay! Okay, you’ve found me out, Jughead Jones. Yes, I understand. You’ve no doubt shrewdly picked up on scuttlebutt coming down Fifth Avenue. Well, now and only now, I’d like to exclusively confirm: the rumors are true.”  _

_ His eyes squint in confusion. Like a dog being thrown off the scent, Cheryl notes. Shutting her eyes tight for a moment, she conjures up some tears.  _

_ “Rumors?” _

_ “Indeed. I, Cheryl Blossom, am with child.”  _

_ His eyes practically bug out of his head, and she can see the wheels turning in his brain.  _

_ “You’re….you’re pregnant?” _

_ “Yes, grunge prince, the dawning of a beautiful era is upon us. My womb ripens with the promise of a fabulous new life.” _

_ “Please don’t say womb ripens ever again. Cheryl...what about Toni? I thought that you were...and you and Toni were...” _

_ Physically fighting the urge to vomit, Cheryl forces a neutral expression and wave of her hand. “Antoinette was fine, for my high school years, but I require more substance as I come into the full fabulousness I was destined for.”  _

_ Jughead’s eyes drop to her belly. “I’m...I mean I’m...surprised, but...happy for you?” _

_ “Try it again with feeling, hobo.” _

_ He gives her a slight glare, but he seems to believe her. Cheryl lets herself calm a bit.  _

_ “Who’s the father?” _ _   
  
_

_ In later retellings, Cheryl will only say that it was a stressful situation and she thought as quickly as she could. _

_ “Reggie.”  _

_ Jughead’s eyes practically bug out of his head.  _

_ “Reggie? As in Reggie Mantle?”  _

_ It feels very much like she may actually vomit as she allows herself to think about it, but Cheryl forces a nod.  _

_ “Yes, Reginald Mantle himself is the father of my child.”  _

_ “I...Cheryl, I never knew that you and Reggie...when did this happen?” _

_ Cheryl forces what she hopes is a convincing swoon.  _

_ “Oh, you know how it is, Jughead Jones. You spend a little time together in high school, something shifts, things change, and suddenly you’re...naked. With a man.”  _

_ “So you….always felt this way? About Reggie?” _

_ “Oh, my dear Jughead, of course! Throughout high school, even now, I just could never get enough of his….” _

_ Searching her brain frantically, she grasps at one thing that she may not find completely repulsive about Reginald Mantle. _

_ “His chin.” _

_ “His chin?” _

_ “And  _ what _ a chin it is, Jughead. Oh, how it makes me stir inside.”  _

_ She really, really hopes Jughead doesn’t notice the swallow of absolute disgust. He looks completely stymied, but hopefully no longer suspicious. _

_ “I mean...congratulations, Cheryl. I guess I just….never expected this.”  _

_ She gives a curt nod, needing this conversation to end as soon as humanly possible.  _

_ “Well the heart wants what it wants, emo Linus. Love pops up where you don’t expect it, look for the invite to the shower in the mail, don’t be fooled by black tie optional, your best sherpa won’t do for this party. Anyway, must be going, have to get off my feet, toodles!” _

_ She scurries away as quickly as possible, and hopes he doesn’t notice the disgusted shudders taking over her.  _

* * *

  
  
  


“Reggie? Reggie’s chin?  _ That’s  _ the first name that popped into your head, Cher?” 

Cheryl turns her head and kisses Toni gently. “Fear not, my beloved. Reggie Mantle occupies space in my head only when I feel the urge to vomit.” 

Toni is biting down a smile that Betty can see as she forces her heartbeat to return to normal.

“He doesn’t know.” 

Cheryl shakes her head. 

“No, cousin. And have no concerns, I shall be with child as long as you need.”

Betty smiles, squeezing her cousin’s hand. 

“Cheryl, thank you.”

“Anything for family. Oh, and by the way...I got the baby the most  _ adorable _ outfit today.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


She meets Pete and Katherine on a Tuesday. She remembers this. She supposes she may never forget. 

They’re older, from California. It was a selling point of sorts for her. 

She doesn't know how her heart could physically take looking for her child’s face around New York City for years. 

This would be their first child.

They’re nervous as they introduce themselves, but it’s okay. She’s nervous too. 

She doesn’t tell them about the last three years of her life. She fears (or maybe some part of her hopes?) that will scare them away. 

She tells them what she had told Anne. That she wasn’t ready, that the father was not involved, that she wanted to be a college student, not a parent. 

They hold her hand and tell her she’s doing the right thing. She wishes she could find it comforting. 

She’s not allowed to tell them that they can take her baby during the visit (she also should probably find another way to phrase it, perhaps without the possessive), but she hardly sees the point in waiting.

It’s a truly mystifying experience, how she wants the pregnancy to be over in a moment, but she also wants it to last forever. 

  
  


* * *

That night, on one of the rare nights Cheryl and Toni are not home, she orders Chinese food. As fatty as possible, because today she made a plan to give the last piece of Jughead she has to strangers. 

In twenty weeks, her baby will exit her life forever. 

She rubs her hand over her belly, and feels the baby kick. 

It triggers a wave of tears she should have been expecting, but was not. It’s as if the baby has a voice, and it’s trying to tell her something.

_ You need to feel every part of this _ , Rose’s voice echoes in her head.  _ Every excruciating part. It’s the only way to heal, Betty. _

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, laying both hands over her belly. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

It could have been hours, it could have been seconds, she’s not sure. But the knock at the door forces her to compose herself. Smoothing her thin tank top over her visible belly, she grabs her wallet and heads to the door to pick up her food.

The door swings open, the wallet drops to the floor, and she wants to be somewhere, anywhere else when she takes in the figure in the hallway. 

“ _ Jug?”  _

  
  


_maybe i'm just broken_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUNNNNNN. 
> 
> Real talk, the next chapter may be a minute. I haven't yet figured out how I want this to end and I kinda have to know that first so the last few chapters can be in service of the ending. 
> 
> Also, would really appreciate feedback on this! I don't really like writing dialogue, but I wanted to write the Cheryl scene so bad.


	4. i was in your dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because fate hated her, or God had a sense of humor, but Jughead Jones was standing outside her door, holding a lemonade in one hand and clutching his bag in the other, and much as she’d like to pretend it wasn’t noticeable, she sees his eyes go right to her belly, and he knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments on the last chapter. 
> 
> The general theme of the comments I get on this is that Jug deserves to know and Betty shouldn't be keeping this from him. And for the record, I totally agree. This is his decision too, and on some level, I think even Betty gets that. But Betty has been through a RINGER of trauma, and she really blames herself for a lot. The way I see it is, she thinks she's freeing him. It's not the right decision, but it's what she came up with. 
> 
> Actual text I sent my friend "How the eff do I come up with 2500+ words of just fighting?" 
> 
> Well, here we are, my dudes. 3000 words of Bughead angst. 
> 
> Please do enjoy, and really, if show canon is depressing you, and you want to see a lovely, well thought out CW show, really do watch CXG. It's a soothing balm over the soul.

_ I'm just a girl in love _

_ I can't be held responsible for my actions _

* * *

It almost feels like the fates are laughing at her, Cheryl must admit.

She’d just as soon never see Jughead Jones and his ridiculous getup straight out of  _ The Outsiders  _ again (how could her cousin  _ ever _ find that attractive, when such sights as her beloved TT were right in front of her), but there he was, once more, striding over to her at her door with purpose. 

“ _ Cheryl,”  _ he hisses out.

To her credit, Cheryl does appear shocked, before her face smooths and the Blossom poker face takes over. 

“Jughead! How pleasant to see you. May I ask what you’re doing here,” she casts a pointed look at his boots. “Besides tracking mud over my $700 dollar carpet?”

“I called Reggie.” Cheryl blanches immediately.    
  


“Oh,” she forces out. 

“And he was, shall we say, surprised to find out he fathered a child.”

She swallows a gulp that she hopes isn’t noticeable. 

“You spoke to him,” Cheryl confirms. 

“Yes, we had a nice conversation. I called to congratulate him, and I believe his exact words were ‘who told you this? Did she sound blonde? Goddamn, I should have never walked into that Sunglasses Hut’.” 

Jughead scoffs, toeing at the rug while definitely ruining it on purpose. 

“And so after I questioned how someone  _ sounds blonde _ , and informed him of who the mother of his child is, he said some things I can’t repeat in present company, but the gist of it is, he never came anywhere near you. He didn’t use those words, but I don’t feel….exactly comfortable saying the words he used. So, Cheryl...why are you lying about the father?”

Cheryl’s face during Jughead’s explanation had rapidly started to match her hair, and Toni notices her girlfriend’s eyes widening. 

Casting a glance to Toni, Cheryl clears her throat and schools her face into an expression of woe. 

“Because the truth was too painful, my dear hobo. Yes, I did fib a bit about my dear Reginald, but only because the real father doesn’t want his identity known.”

“Oh my god, who is it?” Toni’s question and expression seem completely genuine, and Cheryl shoots her an incredulous look. 

“Yes, you see, much as my gaze has roved elsewhere, TT and I remain close. An understanding passes between us, you see. And I swore her to secrecy, because - and tell no tabloids this, Jughead Jones, or you’ll be hearing from my lawyer - my child was actually fathered by the popular rapper, Jason DeRulo.” 

His expression is hard to scrutinize, but it doesn’t look terribly convinced. 

“Jason DeRulo. He’s the father now?”   
  


“Now and always, my dear hobo. But Jason has a wife, as I’m sure you’re aware. So me and my future child are destined to be a footnote. It is not what Cheryl Blossom wants, rest assured. But a lawsuit comes his way soon. Until then, I really musn’t be on my feet for too long. So, my dear insufferable smurf, be a dear, and fetch me a lemonade, will you? You can drop it off with the doorman. Low sugar, it overactivates my fetus when the glucose is too high.” 

  
Jughead looks just about to say something else, but Cheryl waves a manicured hand in his face. 

“Don’t hurry back, River Phoenix, I think you’re grossing out the baby. Toodles!” 

As soon as the door closes and she hears the unmistakable sound of his footsteps shuffling away, Cheryl collapses dramatically against the door. 

“Italian eat-out tonight, TT. Only the finest for having to deal with  _ that  _ twice in a row.” 

* * *

  
  
  


She’s going to kill Cheryl.

That’s the first thought, oddly, that crosses her mind. She’s not even sure why this is Cheryl’s fault, but she’s going to kill her.

Because fate hated her, or God had a sense of humor, but Jughead Jones was standing outside her door, holding a lemonade in one hand and clutching his bag in the other, and much as she’d like to pretend it wasn’t noticeable, she sees his eyes go right to her belly, and he  _ knows _ . 

( _ He whispers something nonsensical about how the doorman wasn’t there, but she chooses not to pay attention to it.)  _

It’s goddamn terrifying, and her heart begins pounding accordingly. 

Don’t mistake it, though. This should be so comparatively small. 

She is Betty Freaking Cooper. She has faced the Gargoyle King. The Black Hood. Edgar Evernever and all the Farmies. 

And yet, all she wants to do is run. Every single instinct in her is screaming out  _ run run run! _

Her body, however, seems unable to comply. Her legs don’t move, her body doesn’t turn, and she can only stare at Jughead’s stricken face as his eyes sweep over her no-doubt noticeable belly. 

“Betty,” he chokes out. “You’re…”

She forces herself to nod. Her heartbeat is so loud she’s positive he can hear it, and the baby flips wildly.

(Had she actually thought she could keep this secret? They were in the  _ same damn city _ ) 

“It’s...you’re….holy  _ shit _ , you’re…”

Jughead Jones, the smartest person she knows, seems unable to comprehend this.

She can barely blame him. Sometimes it still seems impossible to her too. 

Barely conscious of it, she lifts a hand to her belly and strokes her fingers over the stretched skin. 

“You’re…” he passes a frantic hand through his mop of curls, eyes wide. “Oh my  _ fucking _ god.” 

So, they’re doing this. She does not see him leaving without an explanation, and that’s something she doesn’t even begin to know how to give. 

“Jughead, just...come in? Please? Let’s not...do this in the hallway.”

He barely reacts. Out of some leftover instinct, she reaches for his hand. The reaction is instantaneous, as he snatches it back as if she’s burned him.

_ Four months ago, they were lying in bed together, his hands stroking her hair, and she was positive this was forever, and wasn’t she so lucky to have found her soulmate in high school? _

Mere months later, when some would say that there was something that connected them more deeply than ever, he recoils from her. 

As if she’s poisonous. 

And really, when she thinks about it, she is. She sinks poison into everything she touches, and she tried to save him.

* * *

He allows himself to shuffle in and she locks the door behind him. 

She places a palm on the cool wood of the door for a moment, breathing in.

_ What do you hear, Betty? Tell me three things you hear _ , Rose’s voice whispers, a grounding technique that Betty finds particularly effective sometimes. 

_ Him, breathing out the fire he holds inside him. Look what I’ve done to him. _

He walks to a corner, as far away from her as possible. He presses his body to the wall, like he wants to sink through it. She knows how he feels, all too well. 

“Jug, please say something. Say  _ anything _ , please.” 

He shakes his head, his hands clenched into fists. 

“I just...don’t think this is my business. Not anymore. Not when things have finally taken their natural order.”

“What?”   
  


He snorts out a harsh breath, pressing himself tighter into the wall. She recognizes this reaction. Trying to blend into the background. Trying to make nobody notice him. 

Trying to revert to fifteen year old Jughead, living in a closet. 

_ His shuffling feet on the wooden floor, trying to run away from her.  _

“Come on, Betty. Don’t make me say it.” 

She takes a tentative step closer to him. It’s a mistake, because he scoots further away. 

“No, please say it, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

His eyes lift to hers, big and wet. “You and Archie.”

It doesn’t help clear up the confusion. “Me and Archie?”

He nods. “The way it was always supposed to be.”

_ Oh. _ He’s thinking about The Kiss That Ruined Everything. 

“That’s not...Jug, it was one kiss. And I’m sorry, I’ll say it forever, I’m  _ so _ sorry, but…”

“Just save it, Betty,” he snaps. “It all worked out for you. And I’m the idiot who had to come here and see it.” 

He wipes his eyes on his sleeve in a jerking motion, trying to hide it. 

“You know what, this was a mistake. I have to leave, I have to get out of here…” 

She reaches out again (stupid). “Juggie, please don’t…”

It’s probably the name that does it. He’s halfway to the door and he stops suddenly. His shoulders straighten, and a hard look overtakes him as he turns back to look at her. 

_The pounding of his footsteps on the floor as he runs away._

“So how much of it was a lie?” 

It’s hard and brutal, and it stuns her. 

“What?”

His mouth is twisted into what would be a sneer on anyone else, but it’s a foreign expression on Jughead. 

“Our relationship? How much of it were you screwing Archie for?” 

“I...none of it, I…” 

He snorts, hard. His eyes are hard. Everything about him is shut off, and she can’t see her Juggie in there, who bashfully gave her a half-smashed tulip that he had carried from his mother’s garden because he knew her parents were fighting and they were her favorite. 

“Stop bullshitting, Betty. Clearly, the perfect girl next door and the quarterback finally got it together, and now the next generation awaits us.” 

It hits her at once. 

_ He thinks the baby is Archie’s _ . 

_ He thinks she slept with Archie.  _

He’s going to storm out, forever, and he’ll think Betty and Archie betrayed him completely, and that his biggest fear has come true. 

And the most horrible thing is, for a moment, she considers letting him believe it. She could tell him the baby is Archie’s, he wouldn’t ask any further questions. 

Nobody would ever know. He’d certainly never speak to her again, and then someone would spirit away his baby in the dead of night (she’s not sure why she’s picturing it as something illicit, but perhaps it’s too much time in the murder and drug den that is Riverdale). 

He’d never find out, and this conversation could end here.

But.

But there’s too many lies already. 

She’s never lied to him before, and now she’s keeping the biggest of secrets from him. Lying to Jughead, being separated from Jughead, is already eating a hole in her soul. 

And it’s not about her now. Now, it’s about the baby. 

And he’s here, and she wants so much better for him than this. 

This wasn’t in the plan and being what keeps the world from knowing how absolutely amazing Jughead Jones is may actually kill her.

But.

He has a right to know. 

It’s his too. 

* * *

  
  
  


It’s a process. He’s angry, she can see it in every inch of him.

“Jug, just...sit down.” 

He starts to shake his head, and she raises a hand. 

“I know you don’t trust me,” the words hurt coming out. He doesn’t trust her. She used to be the only thing he trusted. 

“I know you don’t want to listen to me, but just...please. Okay? Five minutes.”

He doesn’t nod, but he does press himself back into the wall and slide down to a sit. She sits down next to him, and the first step is when he doesn’t recoil. His shoulders droop, and she doesn’t mistake tears in his eyes. 

(How is this who they are now? Months ago, Jug felt like an extension of her soul. Now, he can’t stand to be three feet from her.) 

_ Your fault _ . It is her constant mantra. 

“Jug, it’s not what you think.” There seems to be no good way to start with this conversation. 

_ “You said you loved me _ .” It comes out on a sob, and it knifes her. 

  
  


_ You said you loved me, and then you dumped me.  _

_ You did the one thing that could actually hurt me.  _

  
  


“I  _ did _ , Jug.” They’re the wrong words. They’re not enough. They’ll never be enough.

She reaches out a hand tentatively, tries to lay it on his clenched fist.

“I  _ do _ .” 

“ _ Liar _ ,” he rasps. “You lied to me.” 

He’s so barely her Jug as he wrenches his hand away from hers. 

“Juggie...”

“ _ Don’t call me that!I”  _ It’s a shout, the first genuine display of emotion she’s seen. 

“Why am I even here, Betty? I didn’t want to come. I didn’t want to see you. You were...shit, you were the  _ last _ person I wanted to see.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Shut  _ up _ ! Please, just….you know, it almost makes sense. I spend nearly five months trying to forget about you, forget about us, and then you show up, out of nowhere!”

“I live here,” she offers meekly.

“But you weren’t who I came to see! You were just there, you are always,  _ always _ there!” 

He wrenches himself over to where he threw his bag, and yanks it up with force. 

“I tried to forget you, I tried every single day of my life to stop thinking about you, but I  _ can’t _ . I can never.” 

He reaches into his bag and pulls out something she recognizes. 

“And you won’t even let me start over, because if you’re not in my head, you’re in  _ this damn book! _ ” 

It’s not pristine anymore. No, it’s been carried around, written in, pored over. 

She rises with slight difficulty, carefully stepping closer to him.

“You told me to write what I feel, Betty.  _ You _ told me. And I tried to ignore you. I tried to throw it out. I tried to burn it, I tried to get rid of it, but...I couldn’t. And now, apparently, all that wants to come out are these stupid love poems, about the woman I can’t forget, who’s having a fucking baby with my former best friend!” 

It’s a rush, it’s everything at once, but some things stick out. 

_ Love poems.  _

_ I can’t forget. _

He hasn’t forgotten. He hasn’t forgotten her. 

She’s still there, she still  _ means something  _ to him. 

Maybe that makes her a little stupid, because she races up to him, takes his face in her hands like she has so many times before, guides one of his hands to her abdomen.

It takes him a moment. 

She presses her forehead against his, and it  _ could _ feel like it used to, so warm and soft and safe. 

“It’s not Archie, Jug. It was never Archie. It’s you, always you.  _ This…”  _ She lays one hand over his. 

  
  


“This is  _ you _ .” 

* * *

  
  


It’s a quiet few moments that follow. It’s so rarely quiet nowadays, and Betty allows herself to bask. She allows herself  _ one moment _ of stupidity, of bare, wholehearted honesty, as she wraps her arms around the man she’ll love forever. 

His voice is choked with tears, as her thumb strokes his cheek. 

“It’s...it’s mine?” 

She nods, moving her forehead along his. They’re so close together, she can feel the moisture as his tears slip out. 

“You’re...we’re…. _ Betty.”  _

It’s breathed out on a sigh. Shocked, amazed, she’s not sure. 

“ _ Juggie.”  _

That moment she reveled in? It ends so fast she can barely feel the distinction between them being pressed together as one and him pushing her away so fast it nearly knocks her over. 

“You  _ knew _ ,” there’s no softness in his tone anymore. “You knew for months,  _ months _ , Betty. And you didn’t tell me?”

The tears fall faster now. 

“I was trying to protect you.” 

“From what, exactly? My own kid? And how long were you planning to hide this? How was it going to work when we were in the same city, and you had my kid and…”

It’s a quiet revelation, and he steps away. Like he’s trying to get as far from her as possible. 

“Betty. What were you going to do when the baby was born?” 

A sob breaks loose and she bends over, clasping her hands around her belly. She did this for him, goddamn it, she did this for  _ him. _

“I’m so sorry, Jug. I didn’t, I couldn’t….I couldn’t let this tie you to me. You  _ deserve  _ a life, and I’d already ruined so much, so…”

“Betty,” he steps closer to her, his voice low and dangerous. He wouldn’t hurt her, she knows. But it makes a tendril of fear curl in her stomach. 

“ _ What were you going to do when the baby was born _ ?” 

The fear explodes in her stomach, and the words press out hard and fast. 

“It was the best thing, I swear to god, Jug, it  _ is  _ the best thing. You’re going to be amazing, anyone can see it, and I’ve ruined so much, and the new parents, they’re nice and normal and I’ve been going to therapy, and, really, Jug, I’m sorry, I’m  _ so  _ sorry, I would have told you, but then you’d come here, and your dad, he was being so nice and supportive, and…” 

The words are cut off by his howl, and the sound of his fist making contact with the wall. 

She jumps approximately five feet in the air, and recoils. 

There’s a hole where his fist is, and his fist bleeds. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

His voice is rough, cracked with tears and anger and there’s a look in his eyes she’s never seen before. Or, never, directed at her. 

“How dare you.” It’s a growl.

“How fucking  _ dare _ you, Elizabeth. You took away...everything. You made me think I was crazy, you made me think I still loved you, and you...you were going to give my kid away and  _ you weren’t even going to tell me _ .”

“I was trying to protect you,” it’s feeble and she knows it. It’s cut off almost immediately. 

“And you brought my dad into it? You brought Cheryl and Toni into it? And you  _ never _ thought I should know?” 

“I wanted to…”

“It wasn’t your decision to make!” he roars, and she flinches away. 

Both hands rake through his hair, and he doesn’t even try to stop the tears. He paces back and forth, like a caged animal, and she did this to him. She broke him.

_ Your fault your fault your fault _ . 

He thinks she did this because she wasn’t thinking of him, but he’s wrong. He’s all she thinks about. 

He looks up at her, eyes wet and face stained with tears, and instead of the anger, the words come out in a whisper.

“ _ How could you do this to me?” _

  
  


It’s not something she can describe. It’s something that imprints itself on her mind, the tone, the voice, the brokenness that she created in the person that she loves most in the world.

She remembers days lost, days which feel like a thousand years ago, so much softer and simpler.

Sitting by a fire, his hands holding her face. 

_ We’re partners. In the serpents, in life, in all of it.  _

His voice coming through a tinny cell phone connection, laced with fear.

_ I just want you to know that I love you. I’ll never stop loving you. _

His thumb stroking her cheek.

_ You’re a good person. You’re not evil.  _

Hands clasped desperately in the flourescent light of a diner booth.

_ Like Romeo and Juliet, but we live happily ever after.  _

  
  
  


“Jug,” she whispers the most honest thing she knows. “I love you.”

He looks up at her, and that look in his eyes, it will never leave her.

“I  _ thought _ I...oh shit I can’t. I thought I could do this, but…”

He rips his hands out of hers and runs to the door.

It’s stupid. Probably unreasonable, but it happens.

She steps after him, screams the words at him. 

“You said you’d never stop loving me!”

It stops him, so maybe it does have the desired effect.

But he turns and there is that look in his eyes again. 

“I thought I always would. But now, now I look at you, and...I can’t.” 

He steps a hair closer, and Betty is stupid, so stupid, because she heard him and she dares to hope still. 

His hand reaches out and touches her cheek, and like she always has and always will, she melts into it. He sidles closer, lifts his lips to her ear. 

“I don’t love you, Betty. God, I...I  _ hate _ you. I can’t look at you, I can’t….I don’t love you, Betty. I never will again. Now I look at you, and all I feel is hate.”

  
  


And then he’s gone. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


_ Hate _ . 

He hates her. He  _ hates _ her. 

She’ll love him for the rest of her life.

She carries a piece of her in him.

He hates her. 

It deflates every single thing inside of her, and the only capability she has is to fall to the floor, in great, hyperventilating sobs that take over her entire body.

It’s where she stays for hours. 

It’s loud enough to alert the neighbors, who call Cheryl and Toni.

The waves that overtake her draw her out to sea, crest over her and drown her, and she doesn’t fight.

_ I hate you. I hate you. I don’t love you, I hate you.  _

  
  


* * *

  
  


The arms that wrap around her, either an hour into the panic attack or a minute, she’ll never be sure, don’t feel like Cheryl’s arms. 

No, suddenly, her face is buried in raven hair, her fingers clutch at an expensive dress, and the voice that soothes her balms over the large, open wounds in her soul.

“I’ve got you, B. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’m here, I’m right here.”

This is how she allows herself to be led to the couch, where she curls up in the lap of Veronica Lodge, and it’s over. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
_All that lying that's been festering_  
  
_Plus breaking and entering_

_Is coming now to crush you like a boulder_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be too mad at either of them. 
> 
> Or, you know, me. 
> 
> Also let me know what you thought! This one needed to be forced out, let me tell you.
> 
> Also, re: Veronica, I'd like to believe that despite how mad we may be at someone, if they, at least at one point, meant that much to you, and they needed you, you'd be there. Despite still being mad or not agreeing with their decisions. And in that moment, B needed V, and Veronica is a very loyal, genuinely decent person, so I don't think it's outside the realm of possibility that she'd come.


	5. we're not really seeing a common theme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Losing Betty was almost as bad as losing Archie, because Veronica just didn’t understand. Betty meant everything to her, it was like their souls were twined together, and Veronica assumed they always would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, again, THANK YOU ALL for your sensitive, detailed comments on the last chapter. I loved reading them, I loved replying to them, I love you all. I am so glad you all were able to see Betty's point of view as much as Jug's. She didn't make the right decision, but she made the best one she could at the time. Also, ALL OF THESE KIDS NEED THERAPY. SO MUCH OF IT. 
> 
> EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM SHOULD BE IN THERAPY AT A MINIMUM OF WEEKLY. 
> 
> (One session with a guidance counselor is not sufficient for the endless stream of trauma all of them have endured, Riverdale) 
> 
> Anyway, there are two chapters after this, they are planned but not written. I also started another slow burn, Bughead get back together in season 5 WIP, because I are idiot.

_We tell ourselves that we're in a movie_

_Each one of us thinks we got the staring role_

_But the truth is sometimes you;'re the lead_

_And sometimes you're an extra_

_Just walking by the background_

The call comes at 11pm, and Veronica almost doesn’t answer it. 

It’s not just the time that’s throwing her off, it’s the caller. It’s Cheryl, which is odd. Veronica still has contact with Cheryl, but, as cliche as it sounded, she had unspokenly deferred to Betty’s “side”. Much as Veronica knew that resenting people for choosing to stay friends with her former best friend was, at best, ridiculous, it still stung.

Losing Betty was almost as bad as losing Archie, because Veronica just didn’t  _ understand _ . Betty meant everything to her, it was like their souls were twined together, and Veronica assumed they always would be. 

_ Like it was destined _ , she remembers saying, what seems like a million years ago. 

So Betty’s tearful confession of her date and kiss with Archie hurt more than Veronica can remember anything else hurting, because for days or weeks afterward, her mind struggled to process it, and at times outright rejected it. Not Betty, never Betty. Betty was her best friend. Betty  _ cared _ . Betty would never do that to her. 

But she had. Betty dated Archie. Like she never even thought of Veronica, like Veronica was nothing to her. She did it, but at least she admitted it. 

Archie...was he just never going to tell her? 

Every moment of every day, she tries not to think about it, but she does. It gnaws a hole inside her that nothing fills. Some days she imagines where both of them are now. If they grieved at all. If they’re lonely. If they’re suffering. Perhaps she hopes they are. 

* * *

She goes to Barnard, tries to forget, and never does. 

Barnard is filled with people like who she used to be. Before Betty. Before Archie. And she dates, and she has friends, but they’re not Betty. She’s starting to think nobody will ever be Betty. 

Betty calls once, by mistake, Veronica assumes. It turns her blood cold when she hears the voice. She’s long deleted Betty’s contact after screwing up the courage for a full two hours. 

(She’s Veronica Lodge, damnit. She should be better than this.)

She’s nearly positive Betty can hear her heart pounding through the phone at the sound of the voice she hasn’t heard in five months.

“V?” 

Does she imagine the voice crack on the single letter? 

The tears spring forward. She wants to have moved on. She  _ has _ moved on. But it’s too much, all at once, and she hits the “end” button. 

It’s an hour later that she’s still there, clutching the phone. 

* * *

  
  


And now, weeks later, Cheryl calls her, sounding more frantic than Veronica has ever known her to be. There is wailing in the background, and the words tumble out, so fast Veronica can barely catch them.

“He came by, and now she won’t stop crying.” 

Her heart thumps painfully at the idea that they may mean Archie. Five months later? They were still...them?

“He?” Her voice wobbles and she hates it. 

“Jughead. He found out, and now she’s on the floor and she won’t stop crying.” 

“He found out?”

There’s a pause. “Veronica, Betty’s pregnant.”

Her heart drops. It doesn’t sound like Betty, not at all. And if she and Archie are still together, is it possible…

It’s her lack of response that must trigger it. 

“Oh god, Veronica, it’s not Archie’s.”

The relief is palpable. It’s not his. It’s good, but they’re still calling about Betty. 

“Veronica, the baby is Jughead’s. She’s going to give it up for adoption. We weren’t here, but he came here and he found out, and now she’s wailing on the floor, and she won’t let us touch her.”

Veronica knows where this is going, and her head shakes before Cheryl ever asks. Going back into this life is terrifying. The hurt that Betty’s betrayal caused her...Veronica doesn’t think she can survive that a second time. 

“Veronica, we know what happened between you and Betty. I get it, I do. You’re angry. You’re allowed to be.”

There’s a long pause.

“But she doesn’t need us right now. She needs  _ you _ .” 

She’d like to believe the deliberation takes longer, but realistically, it probably takes less than a minute. 

“Text me the address.” 

* * *

  
  


It’s at least a half hour later when she arrives, and her stomach twists as she enters the stately apartment. What was she even doing here? What would she even say? 

Veronica enters full of trepidation, but as soon as she steps in the door, Toni flies out and grabs her, wrapping Veronica in a quick hug. 

“She’s in here,” Toni leads her into the living room, Veronica’s heart pounding all the way. 

“What happened, Toni?” Veronica asks. Toni shakes her head, looking pale and worried.

“Neighbors heard them yelling, but didn’t tell us what happened. There’s a new hole in the wall, and she is just gasping out random nonsense at this point. She can’t tell us what happened, but whatever it was, it was bad.” 

They round the couch, and Veronica can hear the wails, something she has never heard from Betty despite going through years of traumatic events with her. 

Betty is indeed pregnant. Her belly rounds, something Veronica can barely see as she curls on the floor in the fetal position, sobbing, her face red and puffy. 

To her great shock, Veronica feels no anger in seeing her former best friend for the first time in five months. A part of her was vindictively hoping to see Betty suffering as she had, but this gives her no pleasure. In fact, a pang of sympathy shoots through her. 

She sits beside the devastated girl, and smooths a hand over the matted blonde hair. 

“I’ve got you, B. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’m here, I’m right here.” 

Green eyes take her in, wide and wet. There’s a perhaps three-second long pause before Betty throws herself into Veronica’s arms in a fresh wave of tears, and Veronica can scarcely stay upright.

She manages to lead Betty over to the couch, and the girl curls up in Veronica’s lap, sobbing into her dress. 

Veronica smooths a hand over Betty’s back, up and down, locking the other arm around her front. 

Tears stain her expensive dress, but for the first time, the hole inside Veronica closes, just a bit.

* * *

  
  


They manage to get Betty to drink a bit of water. She refuses at first, but Veronica insists. 

“If not for you, for the baby, B. You need to keep yourself healthy, it’s not just you anymore.”

(That one works, and Veronica can’t help but notice how Betty’s hand finds her belly multiple times, rubbing gently.) 

Betty is like a rag doll as Veronica changes her into more comfortable clothes and lays her down in her bed. The tears have slowed, and the awkwardness seeps into the situation a bit as she lingers near the door, unsure of the proper protocol in this situation. 

It’s not given much of a chance to be awkward, though, because Betty’s tears start anew and she lifts her arms for Veronica, and then there is not much choice but to kick off her shoes and slide into bed beside Betty. Her grieving friend (is she her friend again?) buries her face in Veronica’s chest and while she’ll unquestionably have to send this dress out for at least four dry cleanings, she finds she doesn’t mind.

She strokes Betty’s hair and the girl lifts red-rimmed green eyes to hers. 

“I’m sorry, V,” she breathes. “It was...the biggest mistake of...I’m so sorry.”

It becomes her mantra as she sobs again into Veronica. 

“I’m sorry, V. I didn’t mean it, I’m so sorry,  _ so  _ sorry.” 

Veronica shushes her gently. This was supposed to make her feel better. She was hurt, and now Betty is hurting. That was what she wanted, right? 

As it turns out, seeing Betty in pain has the opposite effect, as Veronica’s heart breaks for Betty. 

“I know, B. I know.” 

She’s not ready to forgive, not yet, but the anger and the betrayal is so  _ tiring _ . She just wants to be done with all of it. 

She plays with the ends of Betty’s hair. 

“B, what happened with Jughead?”

She hears a sniffle. “He knows, V. I swear to god, I was...I was trying to protect him. I was trying not to ruin anything else for him. I made a mistake, V. I made a  _ mistake _ .” 

Veronica passes her hand up and down Betty’s back. “What did he say?”

A sob breaks loose. “I told him I love him, V. I told him I still love him, because I do. I  _ love  _ him. I tried to stop but I can’t. Is that..will that ever go away?”

Veronica has no answer. It hasn’t, in her experience. But perhaps that’s not what Betty needs to hear right now. 

“He said...he told me he couldn’t look at me. That he hated me. That he would never love me again.” 

“Oh,  _ B. _ ” Veronica strokes Betty’s arm. 

There seems to be endless waves of tears, because saying it again brings back the wails of before.

“He doesn’t mean it, B. He’s just angry. Give him some time.”

Betty shakes her head. “He does, V. He means it. He hates me. And I...I deserve it. And now the baby will be gone, and he’ll never speak to me again.” 

Veronica shushes her again, trying to soothe her to sleep. 

“We’ll figure it out, Betty. Just sleep. You need sleep, the baby needs sleep. Sleep, and we’ll figure it out tomorrow.” 

* * *

  
  


Betty finally lets her go the next day, cheeks flaming, for Cheryl to escort her to her therapist’s appointment, and she feels what almost amounts to a sense of disappointment.

“Good luck, B,” she says, squeezing Betty’s knee. 

She’s almost out, when she hears Betty’s voice. “V? You can...come over again. Sometime. If you want, I mean. If you’re not busy.” 

Veronica smiles. “I’ll see you soon, B. Take care.” 

* * *

  
  


She knows where she’s going as soon as she leaves, not even bothering to stop at home to change. 

It’s an easy to find apartment. 

She gives a cursory knock, and as soon as the door opens, she strides in. She kicks out the girl sitting at the table, and points one manicured finger at him.    
  


“Jughead Jones, sit down. You and I are going to talk.” 

* * *

Apparently, there are still tears in her body, because she still spends a good twenty minutes crying on Rose’s couch. 

A tissue box shows up in her lap, but Rose doesn’t try to quiet her tears. 

( _ Crying is an expression of emotion, Betty. I would never tell you to stop doing that.)  _

At some point, she must start speaking coherent words, because Rose responds to a statement she must have gasped out. 

“What makes you think he hates you?”

Betty regards her therapist incredulously. “He  _ told _ me he hated me. Like, he said the words ‘I hate you’. How are you doubting that he hates me?”

“It’s not about me, Betty. It’s about you. Do you think he meant it?”

“Why wouldn’t he? I lied to him!” 

Rose nods. “And from what you’ve said before, the lying is what hurt him the most.” 

She nods, feeling the memory take over. 

_ You were so excited, Jug, I didn’t want to disappoint you. _

_ So instead you lied? _

Rose clicks her tongue softly. “Here’s the thing, Betty. Hate is...difficult. It takes so much energy to maintain, and it’s largely a smokescreen for deeper emotions. Hurt, anger, fear. It’s sometimes easier to mask them as hate.”

It ignites a tiny flame of hope inside her. “You think he doesn’t hate me?”

Rose tilts her head, her expression betraying nothing. “Do  _ you _ think he hates you?”

“I don’t know,” she breathes. “Maybe it’s easier for me to think he does.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because...if he hates me, he won’t think about me. And then he can move on. He can leave me here, and move on, and come to something better.” 

Rose nods. “And what about you?”

Betty furrows her brow. “What about me?”

“Do you think you can come to something better?”

She scoffs. “I did this. I don’t deserve something better.”

Rose is silent for a moment. 

“You said it’s easier for him to hate you. Is it possible it’s easier for you to hate yourself too?”

Betty forces out a hard breath. “Why would I  _ intentionally  _ hate myself? That makes no sense.” 

“Oh, feelings rarely do.” 

“But that would be stupid. Why would I put more on myself, especially now?”

Rose’s gaze rests on her. “What do you mean, especially now?” 

Betty’s already raised defenses bristle even more, and she indicates her body with a hand. 

“I don’t know if you noticed, Rose, but I’m kind of working for two here.” 

She doesn’t take the bait, and her voice remains smooth and calm. “Yes, Betty. I noticed you were pregnant. So what I’m wondering now is, would that self-condemnation also extend to this decision?”

“I didn’t decide to get pregnant!” 

“That’s not what I mean, Betty.” Betty knows, but it feels like Rose’s words are invading a bit too close now, treading close to the cusp of something that Betty isn’t ready to voice. 

Funny how therapy in the movies was all free flowing conversation and emotional catharsis. Betty doesn’t  _ want _ catharsis, doesn’t  _ deserve  _ catharsis, and she sure as hell doesn’t want to talk about this. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies stubbornly, clamping her lips together. 

Rose is silent for a moment. 

“Have you thought of having children before, Betty?”

“Besides this one?” 

“Sure. Besides, including, children in general. Have you thought of having children?”

“Used to. Sometimes.” 

Rose nods, her expression still maddeningly neutral. 

“And why did that change? Or, perhaps,  _ when _ did that change?”

She doesn’t want to, she doesn’t  _ want  _ to talk about it. 

“Few years ago.”

“Any particular reason?” 

“You mean besides the serial killer father, murderous cult, threats of impending death, sex tapes, and parental abandonment?”

It wasn’t what she meant to say, but she imbues it with as much sarcasm as possible, so that maybe Rose would drop it.

She doesn’t, of course. 

“None of those things seem like your fault, Betty.” 

“But I put myself into them! I rush into danger, or it finds me, it doesn’t matter. Violence, murder and death are  _ always _ with me. Why would I put a kid into that?”

The tears bubbling up don’t feel the same as all the tears of the last few days. She swallows hard. 

She will not cry.

Rose hums gently. “So you feel like, based on what’s happened to you, you don’t deserve happiness? Or that you would be unable to parent because of what happened to you?”

She feels gentle kicks in her belly, and her hand smooths over it before she can think about it. 

The tears leak, just a few. It feels like the baby is talking to her. Almost like it’s soothing her. 

“I don’t deserve it,” she whispers. 

Rose moves a hair closer. 

“Why?” she asks softly. 

“Because I’ll ruin it!” It bursts forth, and the baby kicks wildly. 

“What will you ruin, Betty?”

“The baby! It has to go, it  _ has  _ to get away from me. It can’t...it can’t stay here.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I will ruin it! Didn’t you hear? I will hurt this baby, I already have! I hurt Jug, I hurt V, I can’t be...I don’t deserve…”

The sobs break loose again, and she hates it, she  _ hates _ this. 

The tissue box is dropped into her lap again, and Rose’s face is a blur, her voice far away. 

“Betty, I’m going to ask you again. Is this sense of self-condemnation  _ really _ all about Jughead?”

She breaks into sobs and draws her knees up to her chest as best she can. 

“I can’t...I don’t….” she frantically swipes at her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Okay.” Her head snaps up in shock. 

“Okay?”

“It’s your session, Betty. We can talk about whatever you want. And perhaps you’re right, we should move the topic to something lighter.” 

Rose reclines in her seat and pauses for a few moments, giving Betty time to gather herself.

“Maybe we should talk about your friends. You said you were living with your cousin?”

Betty nods. “Cheryl. She’s been great. She is, as it turns out, a really kind person.” 

Rose smiles. “I’m glad. She must have had an easier time in your town than you did.”

  
Betty lets out a snort. “Cheryl? Easy? Nothing in her life has been easy.” 

Rose rocks slowly back and forth. “But you said she’d been born into money, right?”

“That doesn’t make her life easy. Cheryl’s parents were...horrible. She went through a lot.”

Rose nods. “Was any of that her fault?”

Betty considers it. “Some of it, I guess. But her mother openly hated her. Cheryl kind of...hardened, to deal with. But inside, I think she was just really hurting.” 

“You sound like you may have been the target of some of that hardness. Are there any resentments?”

That one doesn’t take much thought. “No. Even if she weren’t giving me a place to live, I don’t blame Cheryl.”

  
“Why not?”

“Because,  _ God _ , so much happened to her. Her brother was her only friend, and he was killed. Her  _ father _ , her own father killed him, and then he was killed, and Cheryl was left with her mother. Her family fell apart, and then things kept happening, and Cheryl just tried to stay afloat.”

Rose hums, seeming to ponder. “And now? After she’s been through so much? I’ll bet she’s feeling stuck, or perhaps a little doomed.”

Betty’s never considered it before. “I guess, maybe.”

“That seems pretty understandable.”

Betty shakes her head. “I guess, but it’s wrong. She’s not doomed. She’s a good person.”

Rose considers her. “Even after all that?  _ Can _ there even be life after that?”

“Yes! Cheryl’s overcome all that, and so much of it happened to her, not because of her. But she survived, because it wasn’t her fault. She’s a good person, it wasn’t her fault. She needs to forgive herself.”

Rose looks at Betty silently, and it hits her all at once. 

“Oh, I see where you’re going with this. That was not cool, Rose. The situations are totally different.” 

“Are they?” 

“Yes! I am not Cheryl. Cheryl is not me. I did this, Cheryl didn’t.”

Goddamn, the tears pop up again. 

Rose sits down beside her now, takes the tissue box gently out of her hands. 

“You know, Betty,” she begins. “Usually, we say that the therapist doesn’t give advice or insight, she just listens. But I think I can tell you this one. “

She lays a hand on Betty’s. 

“You have had so much happen to you, Betty Cooper. And none of it has broken you. You have carried yourself and others through the worst things a person can possibly imagine, and come out stronger. Your past isn’t a weakness, it’s a strength. You are an incredibly strong person, and any child would be lucky to have a mother like that.”

The tears are sobs now. Her mind wants to reject these words, but her soul wants to keep them.

Rose squeezes Betty’s hand. 

“And one more thing. Violence is not who you are. You are a loving person. And you  _ deserve  _ love. One day, I hope you see that.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Jughead does not want to talk. It makes little difference to Veronica, but he is not pleased to see her. 

He glowers in the corner, hair spilling over his face, but she doesn’t miss the redness of his eyes, the puffiness of his face. 

“Oh, please,” she says breezily. “That look didn’t work in high school, it won’t work now.”

“I’m not in a talking mood, Veronica,” he snaps, and she sits herself next to him on the couch. 

“That’s fine. It’s actually better. You can be in a listening mood.” 

“For you? Not likely.” 

“Oh,” she raises a hand to her chest dramatically. “You wound me, Jughead.” 

He scoots further away. “Why are you here, Veronica? And why did you kick my roommate out of her own home?”

Veronica snaps her fingers. “Roommate. Right. Good piece of information to bring back. Nothing going on with you and the roommate?”

Jughead snorts. “I doubt it. She tends to prefer the fairer sex.” 

Veronica gives a slow nod. “Also good information. And is that the...only reason nothing is happening with her?”

Jughead looks at her incredulously. “What do you want, Veronica?”

She sighs. “I saw Betty.” 

His entire body tenses and recoils from her at the name. It’s such a visceral reaction that Veronica is momentarily stunned. 

“And?” he bites out. 

She tries to come closer, but he isn’t having it. “You know why I’m here, Jughead.”

“Did she send you?” His voice is hard and angry. 

“No, god no,” Veronica assures him. “Actually, I think she’d be horrified if I was here. But considering I essentially scraped her off the floor you left her on, wailing, I felt it was time for us to have a talk.” 

There’s a reaction to that description too. Jughead’s eyes turn to meet her for the first time, and there’s something that flits across his gaze too quickly to name. But in his eyes, there’s a note of concern, and Veronica knows. He hasn’t stopped caring about her. 

Was Jughead Jones even capable of not caring about Betty Cooper?

His face and his words are two different things, though. 

“Why should I care what Betty’s doing? I have no part in this. She made that perfectly clear.” 

“Jughead. You’re mad. I get it. Believe me, I get it. But is that the right emotion for this time? You should have seen her.”

He jets off the couch, runs a hand through his hair, and for the first time, she notices he’s not wearing a beanie. 

“If she had her way, Veronica, I wouldn’t have seen her at all. She would have just handed my kid off to strangers, and gone about her life.” 

Veronica stands too. “Nothing in the last six months has allowed her to go about her life as if nothing happened, Jughead.” 

“And whose fault is that,” he hisses. “ _ Why _ are you defending her, Veronica? She cheated on me with your boyfriend!” 

“I get that!” Veronica growls back. “I actually remember that, Jughead. I found it traumatic too.” 

“Clearly not as, or you wouldn’t be here, begging for clemency for my ex! Although, I suppose it kind of makes sense. They were always destined, weren’t they? We were just temporary distractions. I don’t know why I expected anything else.” 

Veronica throws her hands up in exasperation. “For once, Jughead, let’s put the persecution complex to a rest. I saw you two for three years. It was real, and you know it.” 

“Clearly not real enough!” this time it’s a yell. “She was waiting for Archie the whole time, and I’m the idiot asshole who’s stupidly in love with her and didn’t even get a fucking phone call saying she’s having my kid! So all that shit that I went through, that we  _ all  _ went through in high school, I guess it never registered with you.” 

“What the hell are you saying?” Veronica shoots back. 

“I’m saying that you had no idea what any of our lives were like! You were the poor little rich girl, who could have anyone she wanted. You even managed to steal Archie away for a few years there. But don’t come here on a mission from someone who betrayed you and tell  _ me _ that I’m supposed to forgive and forget. It doesn’t work like that, Veronica, sometimes you don’t get what you want.”

He tries to walk away after that, but he has ignited a flame of anger inside her, and she seizes his arm, not even caring how hard she grips it, and whirls him around.

“Typical Jughead. Thinks he’s got the market cornered on suffering. Thinks he’s our group’s holy, wronged martyr. That everyone else screws Jughead over and he just broods and takes it. Well, newsflash, Linus. Other people have issues too. My parents were in  _ prison _ . I raised myself at fifteen, and my father tried to kill my boyfriend. I lost my boyfriend, I lost my best friend, my life imploded, you are  _ not _ the only one who was hurting!” 

He glares at her, but says nothing.

“This has always been you, Jughead. You’ve always gone into it with the assumption that nobody understands your trauma. Well, guess what. We’ve all got trauma. Including Betty.” 

He yanks himself away from her, but his burst of confidence has been shaken. 

“Betty made her choices,” he mumbles.

“Like you’re making them now? She made a mistake, Jughead. But this one, misguided as it was, was done to protect you. She thought she was saving you.” 

“She hurt me!” he yells, and she sees the tears escape. “Why is it me who always has to forgive her?”

“Because right now, there’s a baby to think about.”

It stops him in his tracks, and he slumps against the wall. 

She steps a bit closer to him, takes his face in her hands.

“Nobody is saying you have to forgive her, Jug. But you have to learn how to be near her again. Because whoever ends up raising that baby, right now, it needs you. And as much as you both hate it, she needs you too.”

He heaves a sigh, his body deflating as he slumps to a sit on the wall. She sits next to him, gives his arm a brief rub, and they sit in silence.

After a minute, he produces a leather-bound book with out of a drawer. 

“I’ve been writing poems. Love poems, I guess,” he mumbles. “I keep telling myself they’re not for her, but I think maybe they are.” 

He runs a thumb over the spine of the book, and Veronica smiles and lays her head on his shoulder. 

“You better find an audience for those, Holden Caulfield. I spent three years listening to your writing and Archie’s music. I feel like I’ve suffered enough.” 

  
_But now there are things in my life that are actually real_   
_I gotta make a choice, darlin' don't ask me why_   
_So will I have the strength to tell the darkness_   
_Goodbye?_   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god, the therapist thing is real. One time I was telling my therapist an (I thought) unrelated story about how I told my students that we're all different, and difference should be valued and not judged and....oh I see where you're going with this, buddy. Sneaky. 
> 
> And they DO remain annoyingly neutral and not give you any advice. It's maddening sometimes. But, you know, ultimately for the best. 
> 
> Anyway, I feared this chapter may lose you all a bit because there's not any bughead interaction and we switch POVs. 
> 
> But it was such a narratively important one that we couldn't skip it and we got to bring V back in! 
> 
> Note that, writers of Riverdale. Just because something isn't as shiny as you'd like, it still holds narrative importance and you still have to write it correctly. 
> 
> So...thoughts? Tell me what you think!


	6. we may not always agree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She takes a moment to revel. He’s here. She was nearly convinced she’d never see him again. So maybe, just maybe, he wants to forgive her. Or at least, to talk. God, she misses talking to him. There was a time that she could tell him anything, and feel like it was completely safe with him. Even now, she thinks he may listen, but now they exist on his terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD. 
> 
> You have no idea how hard I fought to get this chapter out. I dragged Lady Muse, kicking and screaming, from her place in the recesses of my brain, to finally get this done. I have tortured my poor friend Annie with this fic for so long. I made up for it by naming two characters after her but still...
> 
> And thus it spiralled to almost 5000 words and I've lost control of my life. But you know, kind of appropriate that it's being posted on mother's day. 
> 
> Also I want to state, you'll come across a very angry Jug in this chapter. He's going to sound very harsh, especially to Betty. But please try to remember, the person that, by all accounts, he planned on being with forever, who he trusted more than anyone, cheated on him with his best friend, validating all his insecurities, and then they broke up. And then he, a person who values family above all else, found out that she was having his baby, giving it away, and not telling him. And not seeing her every day is not an option, because of that same baby, so really, all he has is hurt and anger. So, he's angry. She does not deserve the full force of his anger, but we get to that. Trust me, it won't always be this way. 
> 
> Also, there is sexual content (only very briefly described) in this chapter, and I want to really stress that consent was asked for, and freely given, at each point. They may not be on the same emotional wavelength, but it IS consensual sex. 
> 
> Anyway, again, THANK YOU SO MUCH for all your comments. The best part of quarantine life is reading these comments. They are so detailed and nuanced, and it makes me so happy to know you guys are enjoying this!

_ because life is a gradual series of revelations _

_ that occur over a period of time _

_ it's not some carefully crafted story _

_ it's a mess and we're all gonna die _

* * *

It’s a week later that the knock comes. 

(She is now appropriately cautious of unknown guests.

And rightly so, because her heart drops to her stomach at the unmistakable hunched figure.)

  
  


“Jughead,” she breathes softly. 

He doesn’t look at her. Instead, his eyes train resolutely on the ground. He doesn’t greet her either.

She takes a moment to revel. He’s  _ here _ . She was nearly convinced she’d never see him again. So maybe, just maybe, he wants to forgive her. Or at least, to talk. God, she misses talking to him. There was a time that she could tell him anything, and feel like it was completely safe with him. Even now, she thinks he may listen, but now they exist on his terms. 

She’s not sure if she should invite him in, when he speaks. 

“When’s the next appointment?”

It’s not what she expected, that much is certain. It actually feels a very random question to ask. 

“What?” 

“The doctor. You  _ are _ seeing the doctor, right?”

Mutely, she nods. Yes, she’d been seeing the doctor. Alone, like she did everything else. 

“Okay. So when is the next appointment?”

She’s stunned. That’s actually putting it a bit mildly, but she’s terrified of interpreting his meaning. Even this sounds too good to be true. 

“Two weeks from now, on the sixteenth at two. My six month appointment.”

He gives a jerking nod. “Where?” 

“Mount Sinai. West 147th.” 

Another nod, and then more silence. No yelling, so she supposes she should take it as a win. 

But his posture is stiff and he’s still not looking at her. 

And they were together for three damn years and she loves him. She doesn’t feel, not in any way, that she deserves his love, but she misses it more than she misses anything else. She misses his warmth, his safety, the vibrations of his laugh as they lay naked in their bed. 

So she takes a step towards him.

“Jug,” it’s as far as she gets.

“I’ll be there.” 

The conversation was leading up to it, but she’s still surprised.

“You’ll be there? 

“Yeah.” It has a note of finality in it. 

“You’ll come to the doctors with me?” 

  
His eyebrows raise in a gesture that she guesses means yes. 

He’s going to come with her. Willingly (mostly). He’ll come with her to see the baby, hear the baby. The baby that, for eighteen more weeks, is theirs. It makes tears spring to her eyes, and a tiny, traitorous whisper escape. 

“You’ll be with me? I won’t be...I won’t be alone?” 

His ears pink and his hands clench into fists. She sees his throat bob, as if he’s swallowing emotion. 

She wants him to share it with her. 

She wants to  _ talk _ . 

“I’ll go to the  _ doctor _ with you. I’m here for the baby. Not for you.” 

_ Not for you _ . Just for the baby. 

It’s more than she deserves, more than she expects, but she  _ needs _ more. 

She steps past the doorway. 

“Jug, I’m sorry…” 

“Save it, Betty. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“But Jug,” she reaches a hand out and touches his arm. “Do you not want to talk, or….”

It finally gets him to look at her, and she very nearly gasps at the hard, angry look in his eyes. 

“We have nothing to talk about, Betty. You saw to that.”

He turns and leaves, and Betty is so confused as to what she should even be feeling. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The waiting room is filled with couples. Women happily smiling, talking, reading, rubbing their hands over their bellies like they have no cares in the world. 

And they must not, because their partners sit next to them. Betty sees a few expectant fathers holding their wives’ hands and it sends a jolt of anger through her. 

They’ll get to keep their babies, she’s sure. They’ll get to take their perfect babies home to their perfect homes and perfect families and be happy forever, and her baby will be gone in 16 weeks and the father won’t even look her in the eye. And she’s sitting here, in an obstetrician’s waiting room, as always, alone. 

Jug hadn’t shown up. 

And despite their last interaction, such as it was, despite the frankly frightening look in Jughead’s eyes when he refused to meet hers, she had been looking forward to seeing him.

And she’d believed him when he said he’d come.

Maybe they could finally talk. 

Tears rise (god, pregnancy made her cry so many times) and blur the pamphlet the nurse had handed to her. 

_ Your New Journey!  _ The cheerful font on the front reads.

She crumples it up, shreds it angrily through her fingers. 

She didn’t choose this. 

Nobody would choose this. 

* * *

  
  
  


It’s not late, per se, but it is getting very close to her turn to go in when she feels a body sit down near her. 

  
He doesn’t sit next to her, but slides into the seat beside the empty one next to her. 

“Jug,” she gasps. A tiny bubble of happiness rises in her, stupid as it is. “You came.” 

He jerks his head downwards. “Despite what you may have thought, Betty, when I said I would come, I meant it.” 

It hurts, but she takes it. She’ll take anything he’ll give her now, as long as he’s speaking to her.

So when the nurse calls “Elizabeth Cooper,” she’s also given a tiny moment of joy when he follows her into the room without hesitation. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The moment where she has to introduce him as the baby’s father, the look on his face, and the awkwardness then ensues quickly kill any sense of joy thereafter. 

She lies on the table and pulls her shirt up under her breasts. She’s gotten used to this by now, but she does hear his tiny inhale as he takes in her round belly. He’s never seen her like this, she knows. 

(Because she took that from him) 

Maybe, when she was sixteen (god, only two years ago) she may have imagined this. Her and Jughead, out of Riverdale, together, starting a family. Granted, she had imagined it years down the road, and nothing like this.

No, this bears almost no resemblance to her fantasies. 

Here, the sound of a heartbeat fills the room, and it’s hers but not hers. It’s Pete and Katherine’s heartbeat, just inside her.

It’s hers to keep safe for sixteen more weeks. 

And here and now, Jughead stands three feet from her, his hands not holding hers, but clenched into fists at his sides. 

He doesn’t look at her, he doesn’t kiss her, and she dares not reach out to him.

(The ultrasound technicians look at them very oddly, but that’s perhaps because Jughead has been glaring at everything and everyone in the room since he arrived.) 

When the heartbeat sounds out though, she hears his gasp. 

She looks at him, and he’s standing ramrod straight, staring at the monitor. She can’t see his face, but she imagines his eyes are wet. Every single instinct in her wants to reach out and take his hand, but she knows he’d pull away. 

_ He hates you, _ her mind reminds her.  _ He said so. You have no right to ask him for anything anymore.  _

The doctor’s voice nearly makes her jump out of her skin. She had forgotten he was even in the room.    
  


“Baby looks good for 24 weeks, honey. Do you want some pictures printed out?” 

“Yes.” It’s not her voice, it’s his. 

And when they hand him a photo, he takes it so delicately, stares at it, strokes a thumb down the edge of the paper.

She feels tears spring to her eyes, and wishes, more now than ever, that she hadn’t made everything so very, very hard. 

* * *

  
  
  


It’s a change from that day. By that, she means, she sees him more. 

They exchange numbers before they leave the doctors.

Or, more accurately, he noncommittally shoves his number, written down on a scrap of paper, to her. 

“Only about the baby.” he stresses, and she gets the implication. He doesn’t want to talk to her. 

The first text is simply “blood results normal”, and it’s responded to with “okay”. Nonetheless, it takes a full ten minutes of deliberation before that text is ever sent, and every moment until the response is filled with tension, with her grabbing at her phone until her knuckles are white. 

* * *

  
  


The next week, he drops off something to Toni.

Apparently, he and Toni had been talking. 

It rushes her right back to sophomore year, but in a different way. 

_ You and Toni are close.  _

_   
_ _ Yeah, we’re pals. _

_ Close pals. _

She’s staying with Toni, and Toni and Cheryl are rock solid, so it’s not that she’s jealous of Toni. 

Well, she is, but not romantically. That day, she hears them talking. She hears Jughead laugh. 

_ That _ makes her jealous. He’ll talk to Toni. They can be close, they can be friends.

Jughead won’t even look at her, so yeah, she’s jealous. 

* * *

  
  
  


He gets “invited” to watch a movie with them that night.

_ Invited _ is a Cheryl term, because ostensibly, it is an invitation. It’s a Cheryl invitation though, which means there is a correct answer, and it’s not no. 

He sits across the room from her, on his own couch, but they’re in the same room again. 

It’s a start. 

Cheryl sits heavily, one hand on her abdomen, feet in Toni’s lap. 

“TT, be a love, and fetch me an extra pillow,” she sighs dramatically. Off Jughead’s look, she elaborates. 

“I must confess, hobo, Jason has quite the lawsuit coming his way. This pregnancy is wreaking  _ havoc  _ on my previously perfect body. I mean, I am developing pimples in places - “

“Cheryl!” He cuts her off, his eyes closed and hand out. “Please just...let it go, will you? Can we all just unspokenly acknowledge that you were not impregnated by Jason Derulo and leave it as a lie taken way too far?”

It’s a long pause, but Cheryl swings her feet out of Toni’s lap and trains her eyes on the TV. 

“ _ Princess Bride _ sound good, all?”

* * *

  
  


It takes every single bit of her courage and then some, but she approaches him after. He tenses as soon as she gets close, but she presses on. 

“I hear you’re taking statistics.”

His nod is short. “It’s required.” 

She nods in return. “I’m taking American literature.”

He looks at her, face blank. “And?”

She swallows hard. “And if I remember correctly, stats is not your forte. And you love american novels.”

His face doesn’t change. “Again, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, it’s the exact opposite for me. I love stats. The numbers, they just...make sense to me.”

He finally gives her the leeway of a full sentence. “I was going to get a tutor.” 

She clicks her tongue. “Well, as it happens, I know someone who has some emotional debt to work out, who happens to be good at stats.” 

He snorts derisively. “You want to help me?”

She nods, hoping desperately that this works. “I’m just saying. We could do a weekly session. Just even an hour. I could update you on...things with the baby, I could help you with your homework, and you could advise me on my lit essays.”

He’s silent, but she is tied up with nervous anticipation at the thought of a whole hour a week with him. 

His nod nearly lights her up. “Just homework.”

“And pregnancy updates. That’s it.” 

He schedules her on Wednesdays, after his last class at 6. She would have done it at 2am. It doesn’t matter, because she’ll see him every week. 

* * *

  
  
  


The weeks alternate in more ways than one. Some of them, they sit across the table from each other, she helps him with his statistics homework, and it’s peaceful. 

It’s almost,  _ almost _ like it was before. And it works. 

On their third session, she tells him a joke. 

And he laughs, an actual laugh. 

( _ I used to think correlation implied causation. Then I took a statistics class. Now I don't.  _ Sounds like the class helped _. Well, maybe.)  _

She floats on air for the next two days.

Then, the next week, he’s fragmented and tense. 

She tries to correct his probability equation and he snaps at her. 

_ I guess you would be the only one who knows what the right decision is, right, Betty?  _

* * *

And so it goes. One day, she gets a visit from FP, who  greets her with a warm hug.

(It’s a Dad hug, and she cherishes it.)

He looks her as if asking for permission, and she smiles, guiding his hand to her belly.

The baby kicks and he smiles. “Kid’s got guts,” he remarks. 

Betty nods. “Kicks like crazy whenever I eat something remotely healthy. I think it’s protesting the nutrients.”

FP laughs. “Jug and Jellybean were like that too.”

He pauses, as if he realizes he may have gone too far, but Betty gives his hand a squeeze.

“You’re here to see him?”

FP nods, his face schooled into a neutral expression. Her stomach churns. She made him keep this secret. She has no doubt Jug feels betrayed by his father, and that is adding on top of a pile of previous betrayals. This one, though, this one was her fault. 

And more than that, she knows how much FP values the relationship that he has (had?) with Jughead now, how close and trusting they are. She may have ruined that. 

It’s frankly amazing to her that she can still feel more guilt, but she does.

“He...he was mad, wasn’t he?”

FP loops a reassuring arm around her. “It’s not on you, Betty. I made the choice to keep this secret.”

“But I  _ asked _ you too…”

“You didn’t. I made that decision, and I’ll take the consequences.”

Her chin drops, and he gives her a gentle squeeze. “We’ll get past it, Betty. I’m not worried about that. I am, however, a bit worried about how he’s been treating you.”

She looks at him quizzically. 

“A little birdie told me he’s been taking a lot of shots at you. I’m not okay with that.”

“Mr. Jones, it’s...it’s what I deserve. I did this to him.” 

He frowns. “Regardless of what happens, you are the mother of his child, Betty. He doesn’t get to talk to you like that, no matter how mad he is. And that’s something I’ll be glad to stand up and tell him. I raised him better than that.” 

  
She thanks FP, but tells him the talk is not necessary.

If he only talks to her when he’s mad, at least they’re talking. 

It’s the first step.

And maybe it won’t be like this forever. 

* * *

One week, he won’t look at her and he’ll accept her help without a word, throwing the occasional barb at her that she wordlessly accepts. 

(“ _ My choice. Funny, coming from you _ .) 

( _ Oh, I have the right to contribute now? Thanks for the update.) _

One week, one session gone very, very wrong, he mutters something that chills her.

( _ I could object, Betty. I could drag it through court. I could sue for custody. I could.) _

* * *

She’s amazed when he comes back for the next session, and he never mentions it again.

The next week, he’ll trade psychology puns with her, and they’ll laugh. 

They expand the sessions to three times a week. 

Three hours a week, and she doesn’t even care what he says to her, it’s such a win. 

* * *

In the eighth session, he lets her sit next to him. 

That week, she invites him to a meeting with the adoptive parents. 

It tenses every muscle in his body, but he agrees. 

* * *

Pete and Katherine are nice. Again.

They’re charming, again. 

  
They ask about Jughead’s life, school, interests. 

They reassure him that they want them both to be part of the baby’s life, but Betty just...can’t.    
  


She just wants to know that her -  _ their _ baby will be cared for. 

He seems to like them fine. 

He shakes Pete’s hand, Katherine wraps him in a hug. They thank him profusely for the gift he’s giving them, and he looks profoundly uncomfortable.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He walks her home that night, and he comes in of his own volition and sits on the couch.

She’s stunned, but says nothing. 

He looks like he has something to say, and she waits for him to say it. 

“I’ll do it.” 

It’s general enough that while she doesn’t  _ want _ to ask for clarification, she has to. 

“The baby won’t hide in the closet.” 

It really makes it no clearer, and she knows he sees that, because he heaves a breath and (maybe) shifts a bit closer. 

“When I was seven, and Jellybean was two, my mom and dad both came home drunk. They hadn’t been drinking together, of course. They never did. But they were fucked, and I knew what that meant.” 

His head drops to his hands, his voice a touch muffled. 

“Jelly was sleeping on the living room floor, and I just...grabbed her. I took her to the closet, and she woke up and she started crying and I just...didn’t know what to do. I think I eventually just held her tight enough that she stopped, and my parents were so fucking plastered they didn’t notice. So I’m seven, sitting in the closet, holding my baby sister, and listening to my mother hit a bottle over my dad’s head, hearing them scream abuse at each other. And in that moment, I just knew.”

She allows herself to sit next to him. “Knew what?” 

He swallows hard. “That it wasn’t the first time. And it wouldn’t be the last. That we’d be in the closet again.” 

He gives a wry laugh. “And we were. Dozens of times, so many different years, we were in the closet. And it was awful, but at least Jellybean was there. Because later, she was gone. And they didn’t scream anymore, because she was gone, and dad was barely conscious long enough to form a thought.”

He heaves a sob, and her heart breaks for him. 

“ _ Jug _ …” 

He turns to her and  _ looks _ at her for the first time, really looks. And this time, there’s no hate in his eyes, just tears and sadness.

He lifts a hand to her belly, rubs his thumb over the bump. 

“This baby won’t have that, Betty. It’ll have two parents, who never yell, or drink, and a room, and a bed, and maybe a swingset. They won’t live in a trailer, and they’ll never have to be afraid. So…” he chokes down a sob. “So, I’ll do it.” 

* * *

  
  


It’s everything all at once, and she makes a decision. 

She kisses him. 

And he kisses back, for a second he kisses back. 

But then, just as quickly as it began, the moment ends, and she’s thrown off him. 

“Betty,” he rasps. “Betty, what was...how...I’m still…”

  
  


* * *

It’s certainly what she should have expected. She was confident, for one moment, but the natural order of things must be restored. 

_ I hate you. I don’t love you. I’ll never love you again. _

“I’m sorry.” 

It’s all she can offer as they stand in silence. 

They were so close. So close to being normal again, and, as it always is, she fucks it up.

They’re both breathing heavily, both with tear stained faces, and the silence rests, but only a moment. 

In the next moment, her body, thirty weeks pregnant, is thrown up against the wall, and Jughead’s mouth is crushing down on hers, and she doesn’t understand anything. 

His hands leave her face, run down her body, dive under her shirt and pull it off. 

“Jug,” she gasps out against his lips. 

He barely lets up as he hoists her up to have her legs hook around her waist (a much more difficult task than it used to be). 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he growls, attacking her lips again. His hands are everywhere, and she feels more alive now than she has been in months. 

He’s  _ close _ and he’s here, so she’ll take it. 

He pulls back, for a moment, and for once, he meets her eyes. They both know where this is going, but he tilts his head and looks at her, pupils wide. 

“Okay?” he asks.

He’s looking for consent, she knows it. And she finds she wants to give it. She wants to be close to him, even if this is as close as they’ll ever be again. Even if it’s only tonight. She wants this, she wants him. So she nods, and he goes back in, his mouth pressing hard against hers, and her meeting him at every turn. 

But she should have known better, because what this is for her, it’s clearly not for him. 

“This is just physical,” he grunts, hoisting her up and depositing her on the bed. 

(She agrees as she divests him of his jeans. No emotion. It’s what he wants. And she will take what she can get.) 

  
  


* * *

  
  


It happens more than once. Actually, it has become quite a regular occurance. Jughead will come over, they’ll study, and they’ll have sex. 

And it’s good, and she waits for it all day, and he still takes care of her, like he always did. He never does anything she’s not comfortable with, he never pushes their boundaries, but even the closest they’ve been in months, she can feel the distance between them. He leaves right after, but it’s something. 

At least it’s something.

* * *

  
  


Her belly grows by the day. The baby kicks, and Cheryl squeals in delight to feel it. The baby likes spicy food and hates salad, so they order Thai at least three times a week. Walking gets tougher, she pees fifty times a day, but it’s okay. 

The best times are the nighttimes. 

At night, she reads to the baby. Sometimes it’s a chapter of a textbook (even the baby seems bored), sometimes it’s some classic poetry, sometimes it’s a short story.

But the baby goes wild, kicking and turning and jumping when she talks to it. 

It’s an active, but very good, listener. 

And so nightly, she curls around her belly and reads or tells the baby everything, stroking her fingers over taut, bare skin. 

(It’s only in the hours most shrouded in darkness that she repeats her mantra.

_ I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.)  _

* * *

  
  
  


The baby loves Jughead. It never stops moving when he’s around, but he’s also the only one who can calm it, so he takes to spending a few minutes whispering to it, spreading fingers over her belly and telling the baby to behave itself.

(These are cherished moments, moments she files away to keep forever.)

And whether it’s that, or the studying, or the sex, she doesn’t know, but she has to ask.

One day, in or around her 33rd week, she decides she has to ask as he softly quotes Tolstoy to her belly.

She knows it could (probably will) shatter this moment, but  _ I hate you, I can’t look at you, I will never love you again _ has been playing on a continuous loop in her mind, and she  _ has  _ to know.

“Jug,” she lays one hand inches away from his. Not too brave, but enough to keep them connected. 

“Jug, when you said…”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t speak the words either. It’s a good sign, right? He doesn’t say it again.

“But now, it feels like...it feels different. It feels better, doesn’t it?”

He doesn’t nod. But he doesn’t turn her down. Crumbs of something that may, someday, resemble love, like kernels, are all she has now. Little kernels of love. 

“So, I wanted to ask. I mean...you don’t have to answer. I just wanted to...I had to...god, this is coming out so stupid.” 

She’s rambling, she knows. But she needs to, or she’ll never say it. And he’s resolutely silent, so he won’t take this on for her. So she takes a deep breath in, and lets it all out in one breath. 

“You said you hated me. Do you...do you still hate me?”

It’s at least ten seconds before she even meets his eyes. 

They’re dark. There isn’t love, but they don’t shine with rage. 

Will she have to live the rest of her life in that in-between?

He disentangles their hands, and stands. 

“It’s three, Betty. I’ll see you after Psych.” 

It’s not even close to an answer. 

“Jug…”

  
“It’ll take at least a half hour to get downtown. I have to go now. See you after.”

He won’t say it. 

He won’t tell her, and she can’t ask again. 

So she nods mutely, and lets him leave. 

From inside her, the baby hiccups. Like it wants to tell her she’s not alone. 

She passes a hand under her shirt and spreads her fingers over the taut skin. “Don’t give me that, kid. It’s not like I needed an answer. Certainly not like I deserved it.” 

* * *

  
  
  


Of course, it would explode. 

She’s nearly thirty-four weeks pregnant. 

For once, she’s too tired for sex. 

He’d understand that, but she’s also not sleeping and cranky and emotional, and she’s  _ allowed _ to be the cranky one, for once, isn’t she? 

_ She  _ is the pregnant one. She’s supposed to be emotional. It’s getting hot, and Veronica, Cheryl and Toni are talking loudly in the next room, and she’s annoyed. 

So when one of his little barbs slips out one day, she doesn’t take it. 

She tells him to shut up, and his head snaps up. 

“What?”

“I said  _ shut up _ , Jughead. I don’t want to hear it today.” 

He looks incredulous, and it’s almost stunning to her.

“You don’t want to hear it? My being angry with you - my very justified anger, by the way - is displeasing to you?”

She jets up, paces as best she can. 

“It’s not  _ displeasing  _ to me, Jug, it’s  _ enough _ . It’s been three months of letting you do whatever you want to me, and I’m fucking sick of taking it.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have to have been like this if you had just told me!” He jumps up too, and her back aches, her stomach clenching.

That’s been happening today. Braxton Hicks contractions, the doctor had told her. The body preparing itself for labor. 

It adds onto the day, and frankly, to Betty’s mounting anger. 

“Did you ever, even once, consider  _ why _ I didn’t tell you?”

Veronica and Toni’s conversation has died down in the other room, and she hazards a guess that they’re listening in. 

“Oh, is this the ‘I wanted to protect you’ crap again?”

“No, this is the ‘it killed me every second you weren’t here, but I wanted the best for you no matter what’ crap, Jughead! Do you know how many times I wanted to tell you?”

“And you should have!”

“Yes! Yes, I get that! You’ve only reminded me about it every single second of every time we’ve seen each other. But God, Jug, just put yourself in my shoes for one damn minute! I was eighteen, pregnant, alone, no friends, no boyfriend, no home. And yes, that was of my own design but I was fucking  _ terrified _ , Jug! Every minute, of every day, I was terrified, and all I wanted every day was you! I wanted you to be there so badly, and I knew, if you were there, you would hold my hand and you would comfort me, and everything would be okay. But I couldn’t, and it hurt me too!”

  
  


He takes a step back at her outburst, and it’s around the same time that Cheryl, Toni and Veronica rush into the room. 

“Okay, shouting, not good for the baby,” she says, leading Betty away from Jug, while Cheryl walks right up to him. 

“Great idea, hobo,” she sneers. “Perfect time to wind up the soon to be mother of your child, while she’s very pregnant and  _ still _ trying to help you.” 

“I never asked for that,” he hisses. “I never asked for any of this.”

He swings to face the wall, trying to find a way to compose himself, and hears a loud groan that he assumes is Toni, frustrated with him, in the background. 

He’s sure he’s not at the wall for more than a second, but it’s evident, even to him, how the electricity in the room changes. Suddenly, he can feel no eyes on him, and feet shuffling over to the other side. 

The next noise, a long cry that unquestionably signifies pain, is the next thing he hears, and that gets him to turn. 

The next few moments, as he’ll remember them, are fragmented. 

Cheryl is leaning over Betty, screaming her name, as she grips Veronica’s hand.

Betty is hunched over, arm around her belly, mouth open in a scream. 

  
  
  


His feet can’t reach them soon enough, as they ease Betty to the floor. 

Her eyes meet his and they’re filled with agony as she chokes out “Jug, the baby...”

His body ceased to function on any other level then reaching out a steadying hand to grip her leg and leverage her to sit against the wall. 

His brain goes blank, his body numb, the world stopping completely when he pulls his hand away from her leg and observes the torrent of blood running over it. 

* * *

_well it took me two years_   
  
_to shake off my fears_

_and see that problem was me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (At the risk of spoiling anything, I just want to forwarn you that most of the next chapter (the last chapter) is quite angsty as well. Know that this ending was at least in part, planned from the beginning.) 
> 
> Would really appreciate hearing your thoughts on this! It was a beast that I worked most of the day on :)


	7. this is a song i wrote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s Cheryl, frantically pacing at a run back and forth. There’s Toni, trying to catch her. There’s Veronica, yanking at his arm. 
> 
> And there’s Betty, sobbing in pain, and looking in horror at the deluge of blood staining the carpet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I can't believe this is it!
> 
> This story has been a beast to write, but I have loved doing it. It started out as maybe a one-shot, possibly a three shot, and quickly expanded into seven chapters, and I'm so very sad to see it go. 
> 
> It has been a pleasure to read your comments and chat with you. I hope you'll tell me what you think in a comment, one of my favorite parts of being on this site is chatting with you. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to interact!
> 
> I want to say this now: I shan't spoil the ending, but this chapter deals with subjects of medical emergencies, blood, and discusses death. If this is something that you have personal experience with and may find upsetting, you may want to skip this chapter. 
> 
> I debated a long time about whether to make this medically accurate and then figured, screw it. Realism doesn't seem to be a concern for the Riverdale writers. 
> 
> I hope this chapter resonates with you as a proper ending. At the very least, let it be better than the HIMYM finale. And with that, we dive into it, and for a change, we end with a chapter in Jughead's point of view!

* * *

_how beautiful would it be_

_if it was the entire company_

* * *

_He sleeps late, but it’s a Saturday. Based on the sun’s positioning, they were nigh on 8am by the time he finally stretches wide and rubs the sleep from his bleary eyes._

_Eight am? Pretty good as far as sleeping in goes these days._

_His bones crack with the stretch and he waits for her to make some remark about him growing old, but the room is silent._

_That, in itself is odd._

_He would never call Betty lazy (both because he valued his limbs as attached to his body, and because she was Betty Cooper, and lazy is the last attribute anyone could ever ascribe to her), but she often indulged him by laying in bed with him late, especially on Saturdays. And especially given the last few years._

_He looked forward to lazy Saturdays, waking up with slow kisses among the softness of their shared bed._

_Not today, though. Today, she’s gone, and the thought shakes the last remnants of exhaustion from him as he pushes himself to a sitting position._

_He’s not gone long, as one of his two favorite voices makes him look up._

_“Hey, handsome.” A warm body slides into bed next to him, and he feels warm all over, because this woman, this beautiful, brilliant, amazing woman, chose him._

_He has never, and probably will never, feel like he deserves it, but he’s happy, he’s so happy._

_He loops an arm around her waist and kisses down the column of her neck, relishing in the sound of her giggles._

_She breathes out his name as he sucks at the bare skin and it’s like a prayer, the most beautiful he’s ever heard. He slides a hand to the warmth beneath her shirt and she moans. He catalogues every last note of one of his favorite sounds._

_And then, the moment is broken by another sound._

_Something small and squirming leaps onto their bed as they quickly separate._

_It wriggles into the space between them and turns to Jughead, plastering his face with kisses, giggling the sweetest giggle in the world._

_Tiny rosebud lips part and call out the best word in the world as he cards a finger through blonde ringlets._

_“Daddy.”_

_The world is soft, bright but gentle around them as he snuggles his face into his daughter’s sweet-smelling hair, breathes in the feel of her, as his Betty enfolds her arms around them both._

_Their baby is pressed between them, and Betty’s fingers sift through his hair, as she whispers his name._

_“Jughead.”_

_“Jughead.” it’s again, maybe a bit louder._

_“Jughead.” The world dims._

_“Jughead.” The warmth against him disappears._

_“Jughead.” A hand yanks his arm, and suddenly he’s not there anymore._

* * *

  
  


Suddenly there are different sights and sounds that surround him, and it all comes rushing back. 

There’s Cheryl, frantically pacing at a run back and forth. There’s Toni, trying to catch her. There’s Veronica, yanking at his arm. 

And there’s Betty, sobbing in pain, and looking in horror at the deluge of blood staining the carpet. 

So much blood. It stains the white edges of the carpet, bathing the pure white in red. 

Betty’s bleeding. 

Betty’s in pain. 

He was yelling at her. 

_My choice. Funny, coming from you._

_I could sue. I could drag this through courts._

_My anger is displeasing to you?_

And then she was bleeding. Not before, but now. 

He slept with her, he yelled at her, and now there was blood and she’s gasping in pain. 

* * *

  
  


Jughead had been sent for trauma counselling but once in his life, during elementary school. He remembers little of it, and similarly little of what was discussed. But he does remember the counselor telling him that sometimes our mind protects itself by blocking out parts of memories or experiences that are too painful.

Looking back at what would be the most traumatic event of his life to date, he thinks that may not have been as much bullshit as he once thought, because the next few hours were just snatches. He doesn’t really _know_ what happened between the beginning and ending of this experience, because he doesn’t remember. He remembers pieces, and for once, is grateful for his brain protecting him. Because if he remembered, if he thought about it every day, he’s not sure he could breathe. 

* * *

  
  


“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

It’s the stupidest, most useless thing he could be saying, and it’s all that comes out. 

Betty is seated on the floor, gasping. 

“Jug, the baby,” she’d said.

Oh god, the baby. 

Their baby. 

The blood is dripping from where their baby rests, tucked under her heart. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Toni heaves out panicked breaths, Cheryl paces, and Betty gasps. 

And he...he does nothing. 

Betty is bleeding. 

Betty is in pain. 

And he can do _nothing_. 

* * *

  
  
  


“Didn’t the book say some blood was normal?” Toni questions, voice sounding anything but sure. 

“This isn’t ‘some blood’, Toni, this is a goddamn waterfall!” he snaps.

Useless. _Useless._

“I know that, stop yelling at me!” she shoots back. “I’m just trying to help!”

“It’s not helpful! So either find something useful to do or - “

“ _Enough_!” Veronica’s voice roars over the madness, silencing both instantly and turning everyone to face her.

She is the only one of them who is wearing an expression that could, under any circumstances, be labelled as calm. Her manicured fingers point between Jug and Toni, and both snap to attention.

Jughead exists in a bubble. His eyes see Veronica, but his ears only hear Betty’s tiny whimpers. 

“Neither of you are helping! You all want to be helpful? Jug, come over here and take Betty’s other hand. Cheryl, call an ambulance and tell them to rush. Come back to me when the call is complete. Toni, grab us something to try and staunch this bleeding, then go wait for the ambulance and let them in.”

There’s a good five seconds where they all just stare at her. 

“Go!” she hisses, and they do. 

* * *

He holds his hand out to Betty, and she seizes it without hesitation. 

It’s the first time they’ve held hands in months.

Because he was mad. 

He was mad, and she was terrified and alone and she just took it. 

* * *

  
  
  


Toni brings an assortment of towels, and Veronica stuffs them between Betty’s knees. 

Betty lets out another cry and keels over her belly. He presses his lips into her hair, lets her squeeze his hand. Useless.

They were fighting before this. He was causing her stress. Which caused her pain.

He did this. 

* * *

  
  


The paramedics lift her onto a stretcher. 

She keeps a tight grip on his hand, her face wet with tears. 

Her face is pinched in pain, and she cries out. 

“What’s happening to me?” she sobs. The paramedics try to soothe her with platitudes, but he knows what happened to her. 

It was him, always him. 

He ruins her over and over, and now he’ll ruin their perfect baby too. 

He doesn’t even deserve to be near her, so his fingers slacken in hers. 

She notices. 

She’s in pain, and there’s so much blood, but she notices. 

His hand slips out of hers, and he steps away from the stretcher. 

She reaches for him, she actually reaches out to him. 

“Juggie,” she gasps. “Juggie, stay with me.” 

“I can’t, I don’t…” There’s nothing to say. He’s the cause of her shattering, and he’s poisoning their perfect baby too. He has to go, he has to leave. 

She sobs, and the heaving movement creates a steadier drip of blood. 

He feels numb, like he’s not actually here. 

But Veronica Lodge seizes his arm, her nails digging quite intentionally into his arm, the imprint of her nails in angry red on his forearm. 

“ _What the hell are you doing_?” she barks.

“I can’t, Veronica, I did this, I can’t….she’s in pain.” He says it as if it’s an explanation. As if it matters. 

The slap is hard on his cheek. His arms hang limply by his sides while his cheek stings, but really, that’s the least of what he deserves. 

“Now is not the time for the poor-me complex, Jones. Not by a long shot. We are not even going to entertain this right now. She _is_ in pain, and you are the only one she wants. Now get your ass in that ambulance, and stop assuming you are the impetus for all the horrors in the universe, or I swear, I will find you when this is over, and drop you at the bottom of the ocean.”

It’s mildly terrifying, and her face leaves no indication that she would not fully follow through on that threat, so he hurries back to the ambulance.

She takes his hand as soon as he sees her, and he slings the other around her so she can bury her face in his shoulder. 

“It’s too soon, Jug,” she whispers. “And there’s so much blood. Please, _please_ make sure the baby is okay.” 

There’s a tone in her voice when she says it. Like she is implying something deeper, but now isn’t the time for anything deeper.

Her face is pale and sweaty. 

He rubs a thumb gently over her cheek.

“The baby will be okay. You’ll be okay.”

He wishes with all his soul that he could believe it. 

* * *

  
  
  


He doesn’t suppose he can even estimate how long the trip to the hospital is, but it’s somewhere in between five minutes and five centuries.

Betty wails, and every single one of them flattens him inside. 

“It’s too early,” she gasps. “It’s not ready, it’s too small, it won’t survive!”

He presses his lips to her hair, he tells her it’ll be okay, but it’ll never be okay. 

* * *

  
  
  


He’s useless. He smooths her hair and holds her hand and whispers to her, but there’s always more blood.

She’s sobbing, begging them, _“help the baby, save the baby, what’s happening to the baby?”_

The paramedics scan her belly and he flashes back to three months ago, and a soft heartbeat.

That Jughead feels like a different person. 

The faces of the paramedics are grave, and he knows what that means. He hears tiny clips of their conversation, but he catches a few key words.

Words like “blood” and “total abruption” and “fully dilated”. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nearly four months ago, he ordered a book off Amazon. 

He obsessively checked the delivery date so his roommate wouldn’t see it, but he stayed up nights reading it, dog-earing it, marking it with post-its. 

_The Expectant Father._

He supposes he went beyond cover to cover, and inhaled everything in the book.

He read the part on birth, and he read the part on complications.

He hadn’t given that section much thought, then.

Why hadn’t he given that section much thought?

So he doesn’t know much, but he can call back some key sentences.

_Fully dilated: when the woman’s cervix is dilated ten centimeters and birth can begin._

_Total placental abruption: when the placenta detaches fully from the uterine wall. Consequences include excessive pain, bleeding requiring transfusions, hypoxia and even stillbirth in the infant._

It fills him with a coldness that is the dark twin to the blissful world he was living in this morning. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The worst flash that he can recall before the hospital is when Betty sits up, and her fingernails dig into her belly. Her eyes are wide, and she gasps. 

“Jug,” she gasps. “Jug, the baby isn’t moving.” 

He can’t soothe her after that. 

* * *

  
  


His palms are sweaty. 

He knows because they keep flying off the gurney as it races toward the operating room.

A doctor had told them what was happening, in the abridged version. Evidently, Jughead was yelling at them to tell him what was happening. 

He has no memory of this, but the responding words were like ice water poured over his head. 

“She’s having a total placental abruption, according to the ultrasound. The baby is cut off of oxygen, and she is bleeding badly. She needs a c-section, and she needs it now.” 

It’s blunt, but at least it’s real. 

* * *

  
  


Somebody shoves a blue gown, gloves and a hat at him, and he stands there. 

Just stands there, useless. 

A nurse moves to put them on him, and leads him to the inside of the operating room, where his strong, brave Betty’s shoulders heave with sobs and she pleads with the doctors to save the baby, save it please, and he can only kiss her head and think about how wrong all of this was.

When would life ( _or him_ ) stop throwing tragedy at the strongest person he knew? 

  
  


* * *

  
  


She jerks as they cut into her. 

He tries not to look. 

The doctor says nothing, but the same nurse kneels by Betty’s head and whispers to her. 

She turns to him, a light in her eyes, and breathes “It’s a girl, Juggie. A girl.” 

His heart pounds madly. The doctors pull a bundle of limbs up and out, but they don’t hold it up.

He squeezes Betty’s hand, presses his cheeks to hers, and he’s sure they both cry. 

“A daughter,” he whispers into her ear. “A daughter.” 

* * *

  
  
  


He remembers this part of the book. The baby was out, was usually described as “red, wriggling, wailing.”

This baby was doing none of those things. 

This baby was limp, and grey, and silent. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


And Betty, his Betty, she is also limp and grey, but she sees and she hears.

She lifts her head weakly off the pillow and looks at their baby.

“Why isn’t she crying?” 

There’s panic in her voice, laced through the slurred words. 

“Ma’am,” the nurse tries to soothe her down, but she fights to sit up.

(She’s a goddamn superhero.)

“No!” This time the words noticeably blend together. “No, why isn’t she crying? Is she okay? Where is she? Jug…”

Her hand reaches out for his, and he slides in next to her, barely able to breathe. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


She’s shivering. Her eyes barely stay open. 

The nurse hustle around, call out to each other about massive blood loss and transfusions and possible coding, but his brain doesn’t process anything except the hand in his, squeezing as tightly as she can.

“Jug,” she whispers. “You’ll make sure she’s taken care of?”

It’s not a question he was expecting, and there’s meaning underneath.

“I will. I will, Betts.” He strokes his fingers over her cheek. “You can rest, it’s okay.”

She does not look satisfied. 

She was superhuman today. She brought their daughter (their _daughter_ ) into the world. 

She gives her head a tiny shake, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “No, Jug.”

Her voice is soft. One of the nurses rests a hand on Betty’s wrist, her expression concerned.

Betty’s fingers leave his briefly to stroke over his cheek. 

“She’ll need you. You make sure they save her. You make sure she’s safe. And..” she breaks off, licking her dry lips. 

“Be happy.” 

* * *

  
  
  


These things happen next: 

  
  


He remembers: _I hate you. I don’t love you. I’ll never love you again._

He hadn’t meant it.

Her hand is limp when it’s yanked out of his. 

They push him out of the room. 

He can still hear the whine of the heart monitor. 

He’s screaming, maybe, probably. 

Oh god, _he hadn’t meant it_. 

* * *

  
  


_They marry with their baby in their arms._

_He asks her in the most thoroughly unromantic way. She’s changing their baby’s diaper. The new diaper is on, and she’s blowing on their baby’s tummy, both giggling, running her fingers up and down their daughter’s sides to make her laugh._

_And in that moment, he looks at her, and he knows._

_It’s not so much something he can explain particularly articulately, but he knows. This is the rest of his life. This woman, their child. The life they’ve built together. He wants to marry her._

_Her brow furrows as she takes in him staring at her._

_“What, you weirdo,” she laughs._

_He takes her hand and says it._

_  
__“Marry me.”_

_She doesn’t even look particularly surprised. She just smiles and presses a kiss to his cheek, breathes a “yes,” into his skin._

_(And then their baby yells “Mama, pants!” and the moment is broken, but beautifully so.)_

_Their baby is leaning on him, face tucked into his neck and thumb in her mouth when they say I do, and it’s perfect._

* * *

  
  


It’s not so much snatches on what happens next. 

It’s blurred shapes and figures and textures and smells and sounds. 

He’s reasonably confident it’s Veronica who takes him into her arms, and equally confident that he’s shaking like a leaf in a storm. 

Reggie (when had he gotten here?) helps get his partially collapsed form to a chair. 

Cheryl and Toni get an update from the doctor and inform the rest of the group. 

Sometime, perhaps six years in the future, perhaps they are there when he gets out, FP, Jellybean and Alice arrive. 

Someone mentions Pete and Katherine’s names, presumably that they called them. 

Alice sobs. He wants her to shut up, but he also wants to apologize to her. 

Every drop of the blood that coats the operating room floor is on him. 

* * *

  
  


Someone wrestles food into him, someone changes his clothes. Someone makes sure he drinks. Someone’s fingers stroke through his hair, trying to induce sleep. 

There’s so much tenderness there. 

He doesn’t know why. 

* * *

  
  


And then there’s a doctor in clean scrubs who takes them to a room. 

Betty’s heart stopped, he tells them. 

(is his own even functioning?)

It’s beating again. 

She’s going to recover, most likely. 

Her eyes will open. She will wake. And he’ll see her again.

“And the baby?” someone asks.

(He asks. They’ll tell him that later.) 

The doctor’s hesitation is the first clue.

* * *

  
  


The baby is alive. But the baby was starved of oxygen for seven excruciating minutes. 

_Jug, the baby’s not moving!_

And those minutes will likely come with a heavy price tag. 

It’s too soon to know, the doctor says. The baby is on a cooling blanket. And on a ventilator. And they’ll know more in three days.

But her heart beats. 

His daughter’s heart is beating. 

* * *

  
  


Alice cries in FP’s arms. 

“Oh, my baby,” she sobs. “My poor, poor baby.” 

He mumbles he’s sorry, and they look at him with questions in their eyes. 

It’s all of them, and it’s too much, and sorry is not enough. 

His legs lift him without much input from his brain. Likely, he was going to leave. But a nurse stops in and tells him two things. One, Betty will be out of sedation in a few hours. Two, Pete and Katherine are here, and they want to see him. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The doctor beckons him to a spare room. It’s sparsely decorated with nondescript paintings on the wall and stiff couches. 

One one sit Pete and Catherine, twisting a tiny teddy bear in their hands.

He’s not sure how to do this. 

He’s not sure why he’s _expected_ to do this. 

How much more can his brain process on this godforsaken day? 

He doesn’t want to deal with this. 

Nothing in his life had prepared him to deal with this. 

* * *

  
  


_Brain damage_.

He’s not even sure what the words mean as he tells Pete and Katherine. 

Or, he does, but it _feels_ unreal, unbelievable. 

His baby’s perfect brain is damaged.

Maybe. The doctors had said maybe. 

They’d know in three days.

It’s the one thing his mind sticks on. 

That, and Betty. 

He has only enough room for those two, so realistically, he’s not paying attention. 

* * *

  
  


But if he _were_ , he may have taken in the pinched, grave expressions on their faces. 

They hug him gently. 

They ask how the baby is. 

Just that question, he’ll remember later. Nothing else. 

He mutters something about three days, but he knows the doctor has told them.

“It’s a girl.” The doctor has probably told them that too. 

And yes, their faces. And their posture, and the way they shift closer to him and lean in. 

It’s all telling, before the actual words come. 

“We have...concerns,” Pete tries gently. 

“Concerns?” 

(He remembers reading about a condition once. Echolalia. Where someone repeats words without any indication of their actual meaning.) 

They’re both fighting tears. But they look different than the last time. More reserved. 

They move further away from him, distancing themselves. 

“It’s just...I don’t know if our careers can...if our _lives_ can…”  
  


He just wants them to spit it out, _spit it out_. 

As it turns out, he did say it out loud, because they looked momentarily shocked and then Pete gave a tiny nod.

“We don’t know how a special needs child would fit into our life.”

_A special needs child_.

That’s what she was to them, he thinks. 

“You said you wanted her,” he finds himself saying. They nod, and maybe that’s a relief. 

“Yes, oh _yes_ , Jughead. We want her. We’ve wanted her the whole time. It’s just that if she’s...I mean, if the doctors find….”

_Spit it out, for god’s sake, just say it._

And finally, Katherine does. “We want to take a healthy baby home with us, Jughead. We want that more than anything.”

He gets it. He finally gets it. 

And he’s almost grateful for the feeling that floods him, a feeling he can _identify_ , because it’s white hot and it consumes him, like the feeling he experiences when he thinks about the baby. This wave of anger, of protectiveness. He’ll protect her. 

_She’ll need you. You make sure they save her. You make sure she’s safe._

“So, just to see if I’ve got this...you want the baby?”

Pete and Katherine both nod hesitantly. 

“But only if she’s fully healthy?” 

“Well it’s not exactly…” it’s stumbling, and Jughead knows he’s right. 

“But it is, isn’t it? You only want her if she’s healthy. And now that there may be issues, you’re going to _abandon_ her?” 

They mutter a few explanations, or what could more accurately be called excuses. 

“We’ve waited so long…”

“Please try to understand…”

“We’re not prepared…”

Oh, yes. Yes, it’s anger he feels, because they weren’t _prepared_ , but he has just watched his baby and his Betty’s hearts stop in front of him, and did they think he was in any way prepared for that? 

“You want a perfect baby. A guarantee. What would happen if we gave her to you, and then she broke her arm at twelve? Would you return her?”

“Of course not, Jughead. But this...is different. Please understand.” 

They lay a hand on his arm. 

Betty did that, before. 

He rejected her. She was terrified, and she needed him, and he rejected her. 

He ripped himself away then, and he does the same today. 

“This was very...informative,” he spits. His voice is hard. How many times had he spoken to Betty like that?

How many times was she forced to take it as their child grew inside of her?

“But I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave now, and go see Betty. You know her, right?” It grows more and more bitter as he goes on, but he doesn’t care about them. He cares about Betty.

And he did this to her.

“Betty, who carried this child for you? Who almost died bringing her into the world? You know, the very same Betty you haven’t even asked about? That Betty?” 

They protest. He doesn’t care. Their words are meaningless, and now his daughter will likely have no parents to go home to. 

If she goes home. 

* * *

  
  
  


Betty’s room is dark. 

He likes it. It’s peaceful. 

He takes her in, and counts her breaths. In, out. In, out. 

Her hair is matted but her cheeks are pink, and her chest rises and falls in rhythm. 

She’s alive. 

She survived. 

Perhaps it’s that which breaks the dam, because suddenly the tears are coming fast and furious, and he lays his head down on the bed, beside her hand, and tries to stifle the sobs. 

It’s not until he feels a gentle hand on his head that he looks up, and he’s looking into hazy green eyes, and dammit, the tears start again. 

“Betty,” he gasps, and she smiles. 

“Juggie.” It’s weak and rough, but it’s everything, and he does the only thing he wants to. He lays his palm on her cheek, and gently brushes his lips across hers. Then he takes her hand and squeezes. 

Her mouth quirks in a smile, but then her other hand comes to rest on her much flatter belly, and panic fills her eyes. 

He knows what she’s thinking. 

“She’s alive,” it comes out fast. “No, please, Betty, she’s alive.”

And then tears well in her eyes too. “She’s alive?”

Her voice wobbles as he moves to press his forehead against hers. 

“She’s alive. Our daughter is alive.” 

  
  
  


He wishes it didn’t have to be, but of course it had to be him who tells her. 

He tells her about Pete and Katherine, and what the doctors have said. 

He tells her he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, and they cry together until sleep takes them. 

* * *

  
  


They wake up together too. Some hours later, Jughead wakes up to fingers trailing along his cheek and sleepy green eyes, and it comes out without warning. 

“I didn’t mean it.”

Her expression smooths. She knows what he means. She always does. 

“I’m sorry.” It’ll never be enough, but it’s maybe a start. 

“Juggie, it’s okay.” She’s too good, like always. She almost died, and she forgives him. 

He shakes his head. “It’s not. I was terrible to you, for months. I abandoned you. I’m...I’m so fucking sorry, Betty.”

She hums and pulls herself in a fraction closer. It’s an invitation to continue, and he takes it. 

“I was hurt. I don’t think I was ever even angry, I was just hurting and confused and scared and...I took it out on you, when you were just trying to protect me. I wish you had told me, Betty. And I wish you hadn’t kissed Archie. You were the woman I _know_ I want to spend my life with, and that...hurt more than anything I’ve ever felt.” 

She nods, a tear escaping that he wipes away with the pad of his thumb. “I know. I’m so sorry, Juggie. I thought I was keeping you from feeling trapped by me. I thought I was giving you the best.”

It’s confusing, because how could she think that? How could living his entire life without her be anything other than wrong?

“But _you’re_ the best, Betty. I don’t have the best if I don’t have you. You...you’re everything.” 

She gives a gentle sob. “I hurt you.” 

A tear escapes him too. “And I hurt you. I’m sorry, Betty.”

She nods. “Me too.” 

“So can we just...start from here? Because I think Veronica may have been right, much as it pains me to admit it.”

(It earns a small chuckle from her, and it’s music to his ears)

“It’s not about us anymore. It’s about her, and we owe it to her to do better.” 

Betty nods, straining to change positions. Ever so gently, he gathers her against his chest and feels a heartbeat. That’s all he’ll need, ever. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The second day, he lifts Betty into a wheelchair, and wheels her to the fifth floor. 

Their daughter is in the fourth row in the NICU.

Betty is tense, but he is too. 

Their eyes train on the plastic incubator, where the child they created together lies. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Betty breathes. “She’s tiny.” 

She is. Their daughter is barely longer than his hand. 

She has a shock of dark hair, her skin looks paper thin, and a respirator winds from her mouth. 

* * *

She’s here, and she’s real, and she’s sick. 

None of those things sound remotely plausible to Jughead. 

The baby was an idea, something that would flit in and out of their lives, and sever their last remaining link. 

He would get to see her, and one glimpse of what he and Betty made would have to do for the rest of his life, before she would be taken home by Pete and Katherine. 

He’d look for his child’s face in every stranger, but she’d be safe. She’d be healthy, and she’d grow up normal, not like either of them. 

But now, he stands in a NICU, beside an impossibly tiny infant with machines keeping her alive. 

He hears Betty sob, and it shakes him back to the present. He kneels beside the wheelchair. 

“Betts,” he whispers. 

“Juggie,” she says. “I love her.” 

He looks at her again, and nods. It’s a name, a name for the feeling flooding his veins, filling up his heart and breaking it at the same time. 

Betty lays a hand on the plastic lid that holds their daughter, and he sets his hand on hers, as if to transfer their combined love to their child. 

“I love her too, Betts. I love her so much.” 

* * *

They get to touch her. They’re terrified, absolutely stiff that they will hurt this tiny, fragile creature. 

They’re told they won’t. They’re told touch is important. Their baby needs to be touched, needs to feel their love. 

Already, he can deny his child nothing. 

The nurse opens up the sides of the incubator, and Betty goes first. Tentatively, she runs a fingertip over the thin skin of the baby’s arm. The impossibly tiny arm leans into the touch, and Betty takes in a shaking breath. She slips her finger into the baby’s fist and their daughter’s fingers close around hers. 

A shaky sob escapes. “ _Jug._ ” 

He carefully inserts his hand through the other hole, stroking his daughter’s back. Her skin is impossibly soft and fragile. Through her back, he can feel her breaths. 

_In. Out. In. Out._

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Betty’s hand wipes the tears away. 

He looks into Betty’s eyes, and it doesn’t need to be said. Both of them know.

_She’s theirs._

* * *

Mild to moderate damage to the cerebellum. 

That’s what they tell them on the sixth day. 

There’s a few other words too. 

Possible ataxic cerebral palsy.

Possible vision and hearing impairments. 

* * *

  
  
  


The rest of the sixth day is spent in the dark, in so many ways. 

The doctor tells their friends and family, and he holds Betty while they both cry. 

He pictures the baby in the future, their still unnamed baby girl. 

Pictures her not being able to walk, see, hear. 

Pictures wheelchairs and hearing aids and she was _fine_ just a week ago. 

* * *

On the eighth day, Veronica Lodge strides into their room, all glamour and confidence, and seats herself on the edge of the bed they are sharing. 

“I’ve been talking to the doctors. Doing research,” she says, by way of greeting. 

They blink blearily at her. “What?” Betty says. 

“The doctors. I’ve been talking to them, and the nurses, because I know you two.” 

Jughead sighs, pushes himself up a bit on the bed. “Veronica, if you have a point, could you get to it, because this is kind of not a good time for us.” 

That seems to occur to their brash friend, because her expression softens, and she lays a tender hand on Betty’s leg. 

“I know you two,” she says, a bit more gently. “You two have been through more trauma than most, and this was...a really traumatic experience.” 

“You could say that,” whispers Betty, and he knows she’s picturing the same thing he is. Their little girl, on the respirator upstairs, her future full of unknowns.

“But there’s something you need to accept, and you need to really get it,” Veronica says. “If you want to be this child’s parents, and….please don’t argue, you do. You need to know that this wasn’t either of your faults. And when I say that, I mean you need to _really_ get that.”

“Vee…”  
  


“No, Betty. I talked to a doctor. I asked if anything can cause placental abruptions. Things like genetics, past experiences, _stress_ \- “ she shoots a look at Jughead on this word, and he looks down ashamedly. “And they said none of that figured into this. They said, and I quote ‘this was just a bad role of the dice. Nothing caused this.’” 

He goes to argue, because how could he not? How could he _not_ have done this to his family? 

But Veronica holds a hand up, silencing him. “Jughead, I mean it. You did _not_ cause this by arguing with Betty. And Betty, you did _not_ cause this by anything you did during the pregnancy. This was a random, tragic event. You need to understand that, because you cannot raise this little girl with guilt hanging over your heads.” 

Her words slip inside them, soothe some old wound, and when Betty turns toward him, her eyes are wide and wet too. 

“We didn’t do this to her?”

He heaves out a sob, holds her face in his. 

“We didn’t do this to her.” 

They press their foreheads together, sob and hold each other and come out different. Better. 

Veronica smiles and gets up to leave, patting Betty on the leg. 

“Cheryl will call you tomorrow. She has something to show you. Indulge her this one time. And as a thank you to me, you can take her home in the outfit I’ve left - “ she indicates the box on the bedside chair. 

“I couldn’t help myself. Besides, Jughead Jones for a father? Someone has to be looking out for this poor child’s fashion sense.” 

* * *

Cheryl skypes Betty on the ninth day. She shows her a fully furnished nursery, and a stack of research on cerebral palsy. They both cry, but Cheryl pretends she doesn’t notice. 

* * *

  
  


And on the tenth day, they hold their baby. She slides against Betty’s bare chest and Betty sobs, running her fingers down her daughter’s downy hair. 

She looks at Jug, and he looks at her, and she breathes out “Georgina.” 

Georgina gives a little wiggle and pillows her head onto Betty’s chest. He holds his daughter’s hand in his, and what comes next doesn’t matter. 

She could recover. She could need a wheelchair. She could never walk, or talk, and it doesn’t matter, because she’s still perfect. She’s still _theirs._

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_She’s three years old, and the light of their lives._

_She giggles, and she steals cookies, and she calls him Daddy, which is the best thing he has ever or will ever be._

_She roams the house in her tiny pink walker like she’s a queen among her subjects._

_And one bleary November day, he straps her AFOs to her feet and goes to take her hands to walk her to the bathroom, when she tells him “no, Daddy.”_

_He yells for Betty, stands at the door, and their angel wobbles toward them, on her feet._

_He cries, and he looks at his wife, and all he thinks is that if all the pain and all the darkness led them to this moment, then every moment, everything brought them here, every single_ _thing was worth it._

* * *

_but maybe while i'm singing my song_

_someone else is singing along_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Georgina was named after a very dear kid to me. I miss her so very much and I hope every day that she knows I'm thinking about her and I love her. 
> 
> I want to stress in this chapter, that we do talk about children with disabilities. I've worked with children with disabilities for many years, and want to make this clear: they are just as valuable as any other child. They have just as many things to contribute to the world as anyone else, and they don't need their bodies working the same as everyone else's to be important. Also, Cerebral Palsy is encompasses a hugely wide range of ability levels. Anything is possible :) 
> 
> That being said, I may expand on this universe with a oneshot or two. I'm already attached to Georgina.
> 
> And I super hope it was clear but the first and second italicized parts are fantasies. Or perhaps flash forwards, who knows. Certainly not me. 
> 
> Again, thank you all for faving, commenting, bookmarking, subscribing, and messaging me about this story. It has been a pleasure.
> 
> Later days! 
> 
> (oh god, please tell me someone gets that reference)

**Author's Note:**

> So.....what do you guys think?
> 
> Also, all quotes and lyrics (and title) will be from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, a fellow CW show that I highly recommend checking out, especially to all you lucky Americans who have it on Netflix.


End file.
